


Daphne Greengrass, Side Character

by LinzRW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Coming of Age, Drama, Drama & Romance, During Canon, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Good Slytherins, Male-Female Friendship, Romance, Slytherin, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 101,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinzRW/pseuds/LinzRW
Summary: Daphne Greengrass is on a quest to be the main character of her own life for once, but that's easier said than done. Includes: conspiracy theories, evil plotting, a Slytherin revolution, and sassy Potter. Not your usual Daphne.Note: Pairings are not tagged. I prefer them to be a surprise.
Comments: 40
Kudos: 52





	1. My Friends Are All Swindlers

**Author's Note:**

> In my opinion, Slytherins get a worse rep than they should because the HP books are told from the perspective of characters who dislike Slytherin house. That's not to say that there aren't bad Slytherins - Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all mean, bigoted people in the books. But there are plenty of Slytherin side characters who we never get to see because Harry never interacts with them. So that gave me the idea to write this. This is the story of the Slytherin side characters: Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Tracey Davis, and Pansy Parkinson. They are cunning, ambitious, resourceful, self-preserving, and loyal. They are Slytherin in both the good and the bad. And I hope I do them justice.
> 
> I like to pretend that Cursed Child doesn't exist. I'm still in denial that it's considered canon. That being said, this story is based on book canon with some movie canon mixed in as I see fit. I have read all the books and seen all the movies numerous times, and things from extended canon I have researched on Pottermore and Harry Potter wikia. In places where the Harry Potter canon has gaps, I have filled in with my imagination.
> 
> There is plenty of romance in this story, but I don't like to spoil who ends up with who. It's not nearly as fun, in my opinion. Hence why there are no tags for pairings.
> 
> I appreciate all comments. Ask me questions, tell me about incongruencies, inform me of typos, guess what's going to happen next, complain about my portrayal of the characters - I love all comments. You can comment on every chapter (much appreciated), you can comment on the last chapter, you can comment on only the exciting chapters, but please comment!

**Chapter One: My Friends Are All Swindlers**

As I stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express, I came to a realization: I was just Random Side Character #214 in the Life of Harry Potter. Or, at least, that's how it felt sometimes. Well, no more. This year, my fifth year, I, Daphne Greengrass, was going to be the main character of my own life. Take that, Harry Potter.

The train rattled on the tracks, and I snapped out of my thoughts. The rolling, hillside scenery and darkening, blue sky meant that we were almost to Hogwarts and the welcoming feast. I glanced around the compartment of the Hogwarts Express where three of my fellow fifth years were lounging about. Sitting on the opposite side of the compartment was Tracey Davis (I dubbed her Random Side Character #215 in the Life of Harry Potter), a girl with curly, brown hair and a round face. She was playing a card game with Theodore Nott (Random Side Character #216), a weedy-looking boy with sharp features and a height he hadn't grown into yet. The final person in our compartment was Blaise Zabini (Random Side Character #217), a tall, dark-haired, devastatingly handsome boy who was reading the frightfully dull business section of the _Daily Prophet_. I'd known them since our first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when we'd all been sorted into Slytherin.

In my past four years at Hogwarts, I'd learned a few things about the school:

Firstly, because I was a Slytherin, other students would always assume that I was a pureblood witch who hated muggles and was destined to be evil.

Secondly, we would never have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for more than one year.

Thirdly, we were all side characters of varying importance in the life of Harry Potter.

In our first year, Potter and his friends were the reason Slytherin lost the House Cup last minute (blatant favoritism on Dumbledore's part). Second year, Dumbledore canceled final exams after Potter killed the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets (I know for a fact that Tracey was relying on those exams to bring her grades up). Third year, we all had to sleep on the floor of the Great Hall one night because Sirius Black (who, according to Nott's father, was never a Death Eater) supposedly tried to kill Potter. Fourth year, we all had to put up with Potter being the fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament (even though it's clearly a _TRI_ wizard Tournament).

Basically, sometimes it felt as though the world revolved around Harry freaking Potter.

"Just once," I said aloud, "I'd like to get through a school year where Harry Potter doesn't cause trouble around final exams."

Tracey and Nott barely acknowledged my words, focused on their card game. They'd all heard my rants too many times before. However, in what must have been a moment of weakness, Blaise glanced up from his paper with raised eyebrows and asked, "What brought this up?"

"Just thinking." I shrugged. "I'm sick of the Pottercentricism of this school. Why couldn't I have been born a few years earlier so I wouldn't have to deal with all this?"

"The school isn't Pottercentric," said Tracey.

"Well, I don't know," said Blaise. "Apparently, Daphne spends her free time thinking about him."

Tracey let out a sigh of exasperation and tossed her cards down on the seat. "You win. I can never beat you."

Nott grinned. Personally, I thought it was Tracey's fault for agreeing to play with him in the first place. The only person who could beat Nott in games was Blaise and that was because Blaise cheated. After Nott had put me out ten sickles in our third year, I'd refused to play cards with him ever again.

"I only talk about Potter so I can complain," I said as I turned sideways on the compartment seat, propped my legs up on the cushions, and leaned back against Blaise's left arm. "Where's Pansy? She's always happy to whine about Potter with me."

"She's serving prefect duties with Draco," said Nott, shoving the deck of cards back into his bookbag.

"Pansy's a prefect?" I asked.

"I know," said Tracey.

The image of either of us being a prefect was ridiculous, but we both would've been better choices than Pansy Parkinson. The other two girls in our dorm, Georgina Runcorn and Millicent Bulstrode, were too petty and were followers rather than leaders… Now I thought about it, the fifth-year Slytherin girls really lacked good prefect candidates.

"What was Dumbledore thinking?" asked Tracey.

"And Snape. You know Pansy is going to abuse her power like no one else." I rolled my eyes. "The girl's great for a good laugh, but she has no sense."

"Especially where Draco's concerned," said Tracey. "Did she tell you? Ever since she was Draco's date for the Yule Ball last year, she's decided to renew her efforts in seducing him."

I shook my head at the horror of the whole situation. I'd nearly fainted when I'd received the letter from her over the summer saying that this was the year she was going to claim Draco Malfoy's heart. "After four years, she still thinks she has a fighting chance."

Blaise scoffed, and I dug my elbow into his ribs to let him know that, as my pillow, he wasn't allowed to move. He whacked the top of my head with his newspaper.

"Draco has no interest in her," said Nott.

"We know," said Tracey emphatically. "We keep telling her that, but she's convinced he's her Prince Charming."

"Prince Charming?" repeated Nott.

"Her perfect man who will sweep her off her feet," Tracey explained for those of us who had been raised solely in the wizarding world. "She wants a prince in velvet robes with a white horse and the magical abilities of Cyprian."

Blaise snorted. He, like the rest of us, knew how impossible it was for Draco to care about anyone whose last name wasn't Malfoy.

"Cyprian was a creep," said Nott. "He was a genius, sure, but he was also a pervert and his experiments usually involved human sacrifice."

Tracey pulled a face. "Why are all the weird ones in Slytherin?"

"Because the weird ones end up being evil," I said, "and we have to uphold Salazar Slytherin's reputation."

Blaise groaned. "Not this again."

"Because most Slytherins are perfectly normal people who just happen to value ambition, the Sorting Hat has to throw in an evil nutter now and again to keep up the reputation. And while we wait for our next evil nutter to come along, we have pureblood elitists to tide us over. The rest of us sit back while they do all the work, and Slytherin keeps its reputation as the house named after the bloke who kept a basilisk in a chamber beneath a school full of kids."

Nott muttered something that sounded like "extreme form of punishment" but I couldn't be certain.

Blaise returned to reading the business section of the _Prophet_. I'd be damned if that article had anything more interesting to say than I did.

"The 'all Slytherins are purebloods' is a bunch of hippogriff shite," I continued. "Wizards have been around for thousands of years, and there's a limited amount of us. Every line that claims to be pure undoubtedly has muggles and mudbloods on the tree. I mean, both my parents are from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but I know for a fact that I have a great-grandmother who's muggleborn on the Rowle side and a great-great-grandfather who's a muggle on the Greengrass side. Which actually makes me a thirteen-sixteenths blood."

Blaise had listened to my rants about the Slytherin image before (the pureblood rants usually happened during our Arithmancy class, in which we were the only two Slytherin students); Tracey and Nott, however, seemed a little surprised by the revelation of my thirteen-sixteenths blood status.

"Blood status is such a ridiculous notion," I said. "And it's not like I get special treatment in the Slytherin common room for being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight." I nodded at across the apartment the other scion present. "What about you, Nott? Any skeletons in your family closet?"

We all looked over expectantly at Nott, who seemed uncomfortable with the question. Like me, he was descended from the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, whose bloodlines had remained pure throughout the centuries. However, after some awkward shifting about and running his fingers through his hair, he said, "I have a muggle for a great-great-grandfather on my mum's side."

"Feels good to get that off your chest?" I asked with a little laugh. "Join the club. Those great-great-grandfathers are scandalous."

Nott scowled. "There are some things you don't talk about in my dad's circles."

"It's not that bad," said Tracey with a shrug. "I'm certainly not getting any special treatment in the common room unless it's the wrong kind." For the most part, the other Slytherin students didn't know or didn't care that Tracey's mum was a mudblood, but there were some arseholes like Graham Montague, Draco Malfoy, and Jeanne Selwyn who decided that her muggle grandparents made Tracey less a Slytherin than the rest of us. Nott chased them away if they got too annoying.

"What about you, Blaise?" asked Tracey, her voice a little too cheerful to be true.

"I don't know about my biological father," said Blaise flatly. "Never met him, and my mum doesn't say much about him."

"Which means you could be a half-blood," said Tracey.

Blaise shrugged, which caused his shoulder to dig into the back of my head.

"Ouch." I hit Blaise's chest with my left hand. "Stay still."

"I'm not your pillow."

"But you're so comfy."

Blaise gave up on me and turned to Nott. He flipped to a certain page of the paper and then held it up for Nott to see one of the article titles. Blaise asked, "So is it true? Is Harry Potter lying and Dumbledore's a crackpot, or is the Ministry lying and You-Know-Who has really returned?"

"Call him 'the Dark Lord', Blaise," I said. "We have to keep up our future Death Eaters image."

Blaise ignored me (nothing new), Nott shot me a scathing look (also nothing new), and the two continued to look over the article. As the only one of our group who was actually the child of a Death Eater, Nott kept the rest of us up-to-date when it came to the Dark Lord. Despite being supposed future Death Eaters, Blaise, Tracey, Pansy, and I had no direct connections to those circles. Blaise's mum was an Italian art historian who was on her sixth husband (an Egyptian business tycoon), Pansy's parents were barristers who'd put more than one Death Eater in Azkaban, my divorced parents were decidedly neutral on the whole mudblood debate, and Tracey's mum was a Hufflepuff.

"I'm not supposed to know most of the things I tell you lot," grumbled Nott. "I'd be in serious trouble if anyone found out."

"But who else is going to keep us informed on the Dark Lord gossip?" asked Tracey. "Malfoy?"

I nodded. "What kind of Slytherins would we be if we didn't know what was going on with our future career path?"

"Just don't go calling it our 'future career path' in front of the Gryffindors," said Tracey. "Some idiots might believe you."

"How did you even get started on the Slytherin image thing?" asked Nott.

"In third year, Blaise and I overheard Ernie Macmillan in Arithmancy saying that all Slytherins were either future evil villains or future evil henchmen."

Nott scowled.

"Ernie Macmillan's a prick," said Tracey.

I grinned. "Three sickles say he's a prefect this year."

"Not taking that bet," said Nott.

"Me neither," added Tracey.

I elbowed Blaise, which earned me another smack on the head with the _Daily Prophet_.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" asked Blaise. "Of course, I'm not taking the bet."

Just then, the compartment door opened, revealing the pug-nosed Pansy Parkinson with a green and silver prefect badge glimmering on her chest. With long, brown hair and a heart-shaped face, Pansy was one of the prettiest girls in our year. The only problem was she had a horrible personality to go with her good-looks. Don't get me wrong, Pansy was a great friend; she just happened to be the perfect image of a snobby Slytherin elitist. As proven by the first thing she said when she entered the compartment:

"Can you believe that mudblood Granger is a prefect as well? And here I thought this was a respectable position."

"Dumbledore loves mudbloods, half-bloods, purebloods, and whatever-bloods all the same," said Nott. "Are you really surprised?"

Pansy sighed with more dramatic flair than necessary. "No. But I had hoped."

I moved my legs and shifted back to an upright position so that Pansy could take the seat next to the window.

"Didn't you hear?" I asked, peering at the headlines of the _Daily Prophet_ over Blaise's shoulder. "Dumbledore's a crackpot old fool."

"I know, I know," grumbled Pansy. "I just can't stand that Granger. I heard rumors last year that she was shagging both Weasley and Potter in the broom cupboard on the second floor."

Blaise made a sound that was somewhere between a choke and a laugh, while I giggled until a stitch formed in my side. Tracey had to lean on Nott as they laughed.

"Goody-two-shoes Granger?" asked Tracey. "With not one but two boys? It will never happen."

"I'm just—" The fit of laughter took me again. "Bloody hell. It hurts to laugh. Make it stop."

"Who told you that rumor?" asked Blaise.

Pansy frowned. "During the Yule Ball, I overheard Padma Patil telling her sister that their dates had gone off—probably to shag Hermione Granger in some broom cupboard."

"Oh yeah," said Tracey. "Jessica told me that Padma told her that Weasley and Potter were pretty inattentive dates during the Yule Ball. But then Parvati met a nice Beauxbatons boy, so it turned out all right for the twins."

"Ah, I haven't laughed that long in a good while," I said, still holding a hand over my stomach.

"Who else has been named prefect?" asked Nott.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott for Hufflepuff," said Pansy, looking upwards as she tried to remember. "Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw. And—you'll never believe this—Ron Weasley is the other Gryffindor prefect."

"You're kidding," I said, genuinely shocked. Potter's ginger sidekick was the last person I'd guess to be the Gryffindor male prefect. I would've guessed Neville Longbottom over him.

"What about Potter?" asked Tracey.

"Not there." Pansy practically glowed with delight. "Draco and I were laughing so hard when we realized that Dumbledore had chosen Weasley over Potter."

"Maybe the _Daily Prophet_ is right," murmured Nott. "Maybe Dumbledore really has cracked."

"No way," I said. "You forget how Pottercentric this school is."

Blaise groaned, Nott sighed, Tracey rolled her eyes, and Pansy looked at me in confusion.

I ignored my so-called friends' reactions and spoke to Pansy alone. "Dumbledore loves Potter. There is no way Dumbledore chose Weasley over Potter simply because he thought Weasley would make a better prefect. I bet you there's some convoluted thought going on here where Dumbledore believes that being a prefect will slow down Potter's save-the-world tendencies or where Dumbledore believes Potter is above the rules or where Dumbledore believes Potter's life is just too hectic to throw prefect duties on top of everything else."

Blaise tugged on a stand of my blonde hair. "One of these days, your crackpot theories are going to get you into trouble."

I slapped his hand away from my hair and then grinned at him. "But that's okay, because you'll be there to bail me out."

"Unfortunately."

* * *

The train arrived at the station around six o'clock, and the compartment doors opened to give way to the usual clamor as everyone grabbed their luggage and headed for the platform. When I had my trunk and the cage containing my horned owl, I hopped off the train and waited for the others. Tracey was right behind me, carrying her over-sized trunk, backpack, bookbag, and a gray owl.

"Merlin's beard," muttered Tracey, "I hate the rush. It's not a race to get the Great Hall. The feast doesn't start until everyone's seated, you know, so it doesn't matter if we get off first or last."

"Yes," I said. "But it doesn't matter if we're seated near the treacle tart or not."

Halfway through my first year at Hogwarts, I'd realized that the plates of treacle tart always appeared at the same places along the Slytherin table. And as I had an unquenchable addiction to said tart, I always made sure that we were seated around one of the spots where the pudding materialized. Every year, Pansy warned me I would end up fat, but I knew she was a heathen who didn't understand the importance of treacle tart.

"Get of my way, newt-face! I'm a prefect!"

Speaking of Pansy, the girl was pushing her way through a crowd of third-year Ravenclaws. She had taken her dark hair out of its ponytail, which made her look even prettier than before, and the Ravenclaw boys she had just shoved out of her path were looking at her with open-mouthed awe. Sometimes, the world just wasn't fair.

"You really shouldn't abuse your prefect privileges like that," said Tracey when Pansy reached us.

"Getting to boss around third years is part of the privilege," said Pansy. "They were just standing in a group in the middle of the platform like they're so important that the rest of us have to move for them."

Eventually, one learned it was best not to argue with Pansy. Instead of commenting, I looked around and asked, "Where's Blaise and Nott?"

"Draco caught sight of them when we were getting off the train," said Tracey. "He's probably bragging about his new prefect powers."

"Draco?" asked Pansy, running a hand through her hair and looking around the platform. "Where is he?"

Tracey and I exchanged grimaces.

"I don't know how to say this gently," said Tracey, resting a hand on Pansy's shoulder, "but Draco Malfoy isn't interested in you."

"There he is!" squeaked Pansy.

We watched as Pansy shoved her way across the platform to where the tall, thin Draco Malfoy stood, flanked by his minions (I mean, friends) Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Draco was wearing his usual I'm-better-than-thou smirk as he spoke to Blaise and Nott. To anyone who didn't know Blaise and Nott, they looked as though they were interested in what Draco had to say, but I could see the glaze in Nott's eyes that meant he was thinking about something else and the arrogant twitch in Blaise's lips that meant he bored with the conversation.

With the exception of Pansy, our group had always had a semi-friendly semi-you-annoy-us relationship with Draco's group. Draco didn't like Tracey because her mother had been a mudblood. He endured Blaise because of how rich Ms. Zabini was. He tried to get along with Nott because their fathers were both Death Eaters. And he disliked me because I'd once referred to him as a "stuck-up blond rodent". That was shortly after not-Mad-Eye Moody turned him into a ferret, so he was very touchy about the subject at the time. Pansy was the only one of our group that Draco liked and that was because she followed him around like a love-struck puppy.

I think part of the reason Pansy had a crush on Draco was because he was one of the cutest Slytherins in our year, and seeing as they were both purebloods and good-looking, she thought they made a natural couple. Then again, maybe I was wrong, maybe Pansy actually liked Draco for his sparkling personality. I'd long ago given up on trying to understand the inner workings of Pansy Parkinson's mind.

Tracey and I watched as Pansy reached Draco's side and started complaining about something (probably entitled third years). Blaise and Nott seemed relieved at the reprieve.

"We're going to end up eating ice cream, using boxes of tissues, and bad-mouthing Draco Malfoy until three o'clock in the morning again, aren't we?" asked Tracey as Pansy hooked her arm around Draco's and gave him a flirtatious smile.

I grinned. "What's Hogwarts without some Draco drama?"

"Peaceful."

I opened my mouth to respond when I heard a crisp, female voice call out, "First years, line up over here, please! All first years to me!" Instead the hulking half-giant who usually led the new students across the lake, the severe-faced Professor Grubbly-Plank held the lantern and called for the first years to gather in front of her.

Tracey had noticed the switch in professors as well. "Did they finally give Hagrid the sack?"

"I doubt it," I said. "Potter's good friends with Hagrid, so firing him would upset Potter. You know Dumbledore would never want to do that."

"You're never going to let this Pottercentrism thing go, are you?" asked Tracey.

"I spent all summer reading about Potter in the _Daily Prophet_. Then, when I come back to school, what's the first thing I hear on Platform 9¾?"

"Let me guess… 'Harry Potter'?"

"Bloody annoying."

Blaise and Nott had finally escaped Draco and were now making their way through the dwindling crowds toward Tracey and me. The platform had cleared over the last few minutes as the students headed down the steps to the horseless carriages.

I took one look at the cage containing Blaise's black cat before I rolled my eyes and said, "You still haven't seen sense and gotten yourself an owl?"

"Leave Pierre alone," said Blaise as he led the way to the carriages.

"I just don't get why you'd want a cat or a toad as a pet. I mean, owls deliver your mail. They're useful. What do cats do?"

"They're good for cuddling," said Tracey.

"So buy a throw rug."

Tracey decided it was better to ignore me at this point, so she turned to the boys and asked, "What did Draco want?"

Nott snorted. "To ask about our summers. To know how my dad is doing. To know if we'd stopped hanging out with you yet."

"Stupid blond ferret," I muttered.

"He's sensitive about the whole ferret thing," said Tracey, mimicking Pansy's slightly nasal voice.

"I miss Mad-Eye Moody," I said. "He was a great Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and all…but mainly I liked him 'cause he turned Draco into a ferret."

"Didn't he turn out to be a Death Eater in disguise?" asked Tracey.

"Well, yeah. But we're Slytherins, so he was never any threat to us."

"You bank too much on our Slytherin reputation," muttered Blaise.

We found an empty carriage and put our baggage on the floor before settling in the seats. The horseless carriages had always unnerved me because I knew they weren't actually horseless. At the beginning of second year, Nott, mumbling and shuffling his feet, had informed us that there were these almost reptilian, horse-like beasts standing between the carriage shafts. None of had wanted to believe him at first, but it was hard to deny when he described the animals in detail, saying that they had black coats that clung to their skeletons and leathery wings tucked up at their sides. After some research, which involved me dragging my friends to the library, we learned that the animals were thestrals, visible only to people who had witnessed death. Nott had watched his mum die when he was five-years-old, which was why, out of all of us, he could see them.

"So, Nott," said Tracey, leaning back in her seat, "You never answered our question about you-know-who."

"The Dark Lord," I corrected automatically.

Nott sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Is he back?" asked Tracey.

"Yes."

"Then Potter's story about the Triwizard Cup being a portkey and Cedric Diggory dying in the graveyard are all true?"

We'd assumed as much at the end of last year, but it was always good to have confirmation from Nott's dad.

"I guess so," said Nott. "My dad only tells me bits and pieces, and a lot of it I overhear."

"So, the Dark Lord is lying low at the moment." Blaise was stroking the head of his cat through the bars of the carrier. "And his contacts in the ministry are spreading rumors about Potter and Dumbledore."

"Actually," said Nott, "I think the rumors are all Fudge's doing."

"Fudge?" Tracey's eyes widened. "Why would the Minister of Magic help the Dark Lord hide his return?"

"Because Fudge is probably in denial," I said. "The idiot. This is why you don't elect a man named after a type of chocolate to run your government."

Blaise hid a smile, and I grinned across the carriage at him.

"Well," said Tracey, "I'd be pissed if I were Potter."

I groaned. "See, it all comes back to Harry bloody Potter."

Tracey opened her mouth to respond, but then she actually thought about it. "You know, for someone I've never spoken to before, Potter does come up in my conversations a lot."

"Don't give her anything to go on," said Blaise, but it was too late.

"You see!" I cried. "I'm sick of it. I don't know Harry Potter. I've never spoken to Harry Potter. The only time I've interacted with him was when he accidentally bumped into me in the hallway outside Potions class. I have no reason to talk about Harry bloody Potter, but he always manages to sneak into my conversations. Well, I've had it. I'm not Random Side Character #214. I'm Daphne Greengrass, and from this moment on, I will never mention him again."

Nott snorted. "Give her two minutes, and she'll be back to ranting about Potter and Gryffindor privilege."

"I won't," I said through gritted teeth.

"You will," said Blaise. "The moment someone brings up Potter in conversation, you're done for. You're incapable of not giving your opinion."

I scowled at my supposed best friend and folded my arms over my chest. "I can do this, and I will. Look, every time one of you catches me mentioning his name, I'll pay you a sickle."

"Really?" A mischievous glint appeared in Tracey's eyes.

"Don't take her up on that, Tracey," said Blaise. "She'll be bankrupt before Christmas."

"I can do it," I cried. "I can go a whole year without mentioning him."

"I'm willing to take that bet," said Tracey.

"Me too." Nott grinned. "You can pay for your own Christmas present this year, Daph."

I glanced at Blaise. I could see the debate running through his mind. He didn't want to go along with yet another one of my convoluted plans, but he did like making money without much effort. Not that I intended to make this easy for them.

He sighed. "Why is this such a big deal now? Talking about Potter has never bothered you before."

I folded my arms over my chest and said stubbornly, "I'm not a side character."

Blaise's eyebrows shot up, and I knew he was reading more into that comment than there really was.

"All right," said Blaise. "I'll call you out on it whenever you mention Potter."

I grinned at him. "Great. Then the Daphne Greengrass Shall Not Talk About Harry Potter Bet begins…now."

"So," said Tracey, leaning forward in her seat, "did you lot hear about Potter's trial for the use of underage magic? A load of dragon dung on the ministry's part. If Potter was going to lie about it, he'd come up with something more believable than dementors."

"I heard a group of fourth year Hufflepuffs talking about how they can't believe they attend school under a nutter like Dumbledore," said Nott. "Believe it or not, people are buying the _Daily Prophet_ 's headlines."

Blaise smirked at me. "What do you think, Daph?"

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Of course," said Tracey, beaming at me, "I'm a little low on funds at the moment."


	2. I Am Not Allowed Near Pointy Objects

**Chapter Two: I Am Not Allowed Near Pointy Objects**

The carriages moved in a line as they made their way up to the castle. The winding, dirt road took us under the two pillars, topped with huge, winged boars, that marked the entrance to the school grounds. After a few more minutes, we reached a turn in the road and Hogwarts castle came into view. Stone towers upon stone towers, glass windows illuminated with golden light, arching doors made from magic and metal, the Great Lake stretched to west and the Forbidden Forest cast in shadow to the east, all framed with the backdrop of a starry night sky… it was our home away from home.

My friends didn't seem all too impressed with the view of Hogwarts. Of course, we'd been living in the castle for going on five years now, so perhaps the sight had lost its luster. Instead, Blaise, Tracey, and Nott were discussing the wizarding stock market. Pansy caught my attention and rolled her eyes. Merlin be damned if we knew anything about that.

The discussions of the stock market ended only when our carriage came to a halt outside the front steps of the school. I hopped out first—free of that boring conversation at last—and waited for my friends to follow. Around us, students poured out of the carriages and made their way up the stone steps to the open doors of Hogwarts castle. I spotted Harry Potter getting out of his carriage up ahead, followed by his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Two girls I didn't know exited the carriage after them. One had to be another Weasley (in Draco's words, they all had red hair and hand-me-down robes) and the other wore Ravenclaw colors. I didn't know how they knew Potter, but the scrawny, black-haired boy smiled as he talked to them so they must be friends.

I'd never understood what all the fuss was about when it came to Potter. He was shorter than most boys in our year. He wasn't good-looking like Draco or entertaining like Seamus Finnigan or intelligent like Terry Boot. From what I could figure, Harry Potter was just a regular bloke who got lucky when he was a baby.

"Who are you staring at, Daph?" asked Blaise.

I blinked. Hippogriff shite. After my big declaration about never mentioning Harry Potter, Blaise had just caught me staring at him and his sidekicks.

Tearing my eyes away from the Boy Who Lived, I turned to smile innocently at my best friend. "I'm ready for some treacle tart."

We left our belongings in the carriages to be taken to the dormitories and headed into the Entrance Hall. Blazing torches illuminated the high, stone ceiling, and the foyer was filled with the echoing sounds of footsteps as the student body shuffled into the Great Hall. The process was slow, but finally we stepped through the arching, stone doorway. We were greeted by the sight of a swarm of burning candles hovering above the four long, wooden tables and a starry night sky that loomed overhead in place of a ceiling.

The table farthest from the doors contained Gryffindor house where Potter and his friends were already seated. Gryffindors were a loud, rambunctious group, proud of their title as the "brave and daring" house. I made a point of avoiding them partly for the peace and quiet, and partly because they had a habit of jinxing Slytherins on sight. That being said, I'd always thought Dean Thomas was kind of cute.

Next was the Hufflepuff table. I caught sight of my Charms partner, Hannah Abbott, sitting amongst her housemates. We met our first year when Flitwick had paired us based on seating arrangement. It'd taken a couple months for her to warm up to me, but our friendship had developed into me interfering in her love life and her helping me pass Charms class. From the table, she caught sight of me and waved. A few of her Hufflepuff friends frowned at me. Slytherins didn't usually receive friendly greetings from that house either. I, thankfully, was considered one of the least offensive Slytherins and was usually just ignored.

The next table belonged to Ravenclaw house, whose students tended to be on better terms with Slytherin compared to the other two (though, that's not saying much). I recognized Cho Chang, the sixth-year Ravenclaw seeker, surrounded by her posse of girls. Pansy and I had always disliked Chang…though that had more to do with the fact that she had dated the extremely fit Cedric Diggory and less to do with the fact that we'd never spoken to her before in our lives. I tried to spot my two Ravenclaw friends, but they were lost amongst the crowd of black-robed students.

The table closest to the doors was ours. I led the way three-quarters down the table before finding one of my treacle tart spots and sitting down. Blaise sat next to me, Tracey across from me, and Nott next to her. It would have been a great evening full of mashed potatoes, haggis, and treacle tart if Pansy hadn't appeared at that moment, dragging Draco Malfoy behind her, and taken the empty seat to my left. I could see the irritation in Draco's jaw as he sat down next to Pansy with Crabbe and Goyle opposite them. Tracey looked as thrilled to be beside Crabbe as I was to be in the vicinity of Draco.

"Try not to stab his eyes out with a fork," muttered Blaise.

I smiled, though it came out more of a grimace. "Why ever would I do that?"

"Who's that?" asked Tracey before Blaise could answer.

We followed her line of sight towards the professors' table at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sat at the center, dressed in the extravagant clothes he usually saved for the opening feast. This time he wore deep purple robes, scattered with silvery stars, and a matching hat. I scanned the professors and quickly saw who Tracey was talking about. It was hard to miss a toad dressed in pink. All right, she wasn't actually a toad, but she certainly had the squat, squinty-eyed look of one. She had curly, mouse-brown hair that was topped with a pink headband that matched her equally atrocious pink cardigan.

All the pink was burning holes in my eye sockets and I had to turn away. "Please tell me she isn't our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two," said Nott. "My father mentioned her, but I didn't realize she would be so…" He trailed off, looking for the right word.

"Pink?" I suggested.

"Yeah."

"You didn't know?" Draco's snide voice interrupted our conversation. "She works with Cornelius Fudge. Finally, the Ministry is taking action and purifying Hogwarts of all of Dumbledore's mudblood-loving rules."

Damn, that fork was starting to look tempting.

"As long as she actually teaches us Defense Against the Dark Arts, I don't care who hired her," said Blaise as he carefully slid the fork out of my reach.

"I doubt that'll happen," said Tracey. "The only good Defense Against the Dark Arts professors we've ever had were a werewolf and a prison escapee on Polyjuice Potion."

"What's this Educational Decree nonsense?" I asked. I read the _Daily Prophet_ every morning and I liked to think of myself as up-to-date on the Ministry's doing (how else would I come up with my conspiracy theories), but apparently, I'd missed this news story.

"I think the article came out while you were visiting your aunt," said Pansy.

"The Ministry passes educational decrees to create some standardization of magical schools in Britain," said Blaise. "But the education code remained unchanged for almost a century. Educational Decree Number Twenty-One was issued in 1912."

"So we're witnessing history here." I stared up at the professors' table. I didn't think history was supposed to come wearing pink bows.

Our conversation came to an end when Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared, leading a line of small, fidgeting first years. I smirked at the sight of them, remembering the day, five years ago, when I had entered the Great Hall for the first time. I'd sat with Stephen Cornfoot and Sue Li (who both became Ravenclaws) on the train, and we'd been jittery with nerves as we lined up between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables.

I surveyed the first years who now stood in the center of the Great Hall, their faces a strange shade of pale orange in the light of the floating candles. Some of them stared in awe up at the vast, starry sky overhead. That was the usual reaction to the Great Hall. Some people even said that there was no ceiling, only a passage to the heavens. I call hippogriff shite on all those people though; we lived in the wizarding world—things like this were possible.

Professor McGonagall rose from her seat at the professors' table, and with a wave of her wand, a dingy hat appeared on a little, wooden stool at the front of the hall. All eyes were fixated on the Sorting Hat as we waited for it to burst into song.

Ah, the Sorting Hat's song. One of the highlights (or lowlights, if you're me and can't stand that the Hat sings off-key) of the arrival feast. I placed my hands over my ears and scowled at the Hat until it was done. I noticed that some of the choir members did as well. Tracey, who had a sixth sense for music, tried to smile and act as though her ears weren't bleeding.

"So," I said, removing my hands when the song was over, "same old rubbish? Ravenclaws are smart, Gryffindors are brave, Slytherins are evil, and Hufflepuffs are whatever?"

"Actually," said Nott, "the Hat's decided to sing a different tune."

"It got vocal lessons?" I asked eagerly.

"No. Still as painful to listen to as ever," said Blaise. "The hat's going for school unity this year."

"It sang about school unity?" I asked. "The Hat—which divides us into four separate houses that we live with, eat with, have classes with—wants us to have school unity?"

"It did mention something about regret," said Tracey thoughtfully.

"So why does it want us to unite?" I asked.

"Against 'external, deadly foes'." Blaise left it to me to interpret what sort of foes the hat might be referring to.

From what I'd heard, the Hat spent its time, when it wasn't sorting students, in Dumbledore's office, so it probably heard a lot of confidential information. That's probably where the Hat came up with the lyrics to its songs. Actually, when I thought about it, the Sorting Hat probably had a very sad and boring existence, sitting on a shelf and coming up with lyrics, waiting for the one night a year when it was needed to sort the first-year students… Eavesdropping on the conversations in Dumbledore's office was probably one of the few highlights of the Hat's existence. I suddenly felt a bit guilty about covering up my ears when the Hat sang.

"You'd think they'd get rid of that ratty old thing eventually," sneered Draco as Euan Abercrombie was sorted into Gryffindor.

"I know," cried Pansy, who could never bring herself to disagree with Draco. "I was disgusted when I had to put it on. What if it had lice?"

Blaise's mouth twitched into a smile. "I'm sure there are spells on the Hat that prevent it from getting lice."

"That's actually a good question though," I said. "I mean, Godric Gryffindor wasn't known for his intelligence. He might not have thought about lice when he decided to use the hat."

"I've never heard of anyone getting lice from the hat," said Blaise, "so I reckon we're safe."

"Maybe we just haven't had anyone with lice get sorted yet," said Tracey.

Draco scowled. "Imagine some grubby mudblood spreading lice among the first years."

I glowered at Draco and wished that Blaise hadn't confiscated my fork. Ah, well, there was always the butter knife.

Blaise slowly pulled the knife out of my reach. Damn him for knowing me so well.

Once all the first years had taken their seats at their respective tables and McGonagall had taken away the Sorting Hat for another year, Dumbledore rose from his chair. The new students whispered among themselves, while the rest of the hall remained silent. We all knew what was coming.

Dumbledore smiled fondly at the student body and then said, "To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands, welcome back! There is time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

On cue, food materialized on the tables. Turkey, pork, haggis, potatoes, turnips, salads, roast vegetables—all manner of food appeared in large, decorative portions. Blaise, Nott, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle piled their plates high, while Tracey, Pansy, and I were more selective. Over the summer, Pansy had realized that we'd reached the age where we started gaining weight. It had terrified her so much that she'd sent owls to Tracey and me, starting us on a new diet. Meaning that if I wanted treacle tart for dessert, I had to eat salad and roasted vegetables for dinner.

I looked down at the miniscule portions of food on my plate and then over at the much larger portions on Blaise's plate. Sometimes life just wasn't fair.

I was about to take a bite of my mashed turnips when I realized I didn't have a fork to eat with. "Can I have my silverware back?"

"That depends," said Blaise. "Are you going to behave?"

"I never behave."

He couldn't argue with that, so he handed over the knife and fork, and I helped myself to dinner.

I'd never been one to guilt trip over the fact that our meals were prepared by hundreds of house elves. I'd grown up being waited on by my mum's house-elf, Hoben, who she'd inherited from her father. During the divorce, Hoben had been given a choice (which was more than Astoria and I had been given). Much to Mum's horror, Hoben had chosen Dad. So now, Hoben managed the house Liverpool while Dad was away on work, and Mum refused to buy another house elf, calling them traitors and all sorts of things when she was on the piss.

After we'd cleared our plates of dinner, the leftovers vanished and were replaced by trays of desserts, and that glorious, glorious treacle tart appeared before me. When Goyle reached for the serving spoon first, I hissed at him, causing him to drop the spoon in surprise.

"You don't mess with Daphne's treacle tart," said Tracey. "We learned that the hard way."

"I still have the puncture wounds from the fork to prove it." Pansy waved her right hand about to show Draco the non-existent scars.

"Treacle tart's all right," said Draco, "but I prefer the strawberry shortcake."

And this was reason #3,532 why Draco Malfoy and I would never get along.

"Our house elf, Dobby, used to make shortcake all the time," continued Draco, not noticing my glare. "But second year, he got ahold of a sock somehow, and we haven't gotten another one yet."

"I've always wanted a house elf," said Pansy. "But my parents say we don't need one. They're perfectly capable of using magic to clean the dishes."

Blaise took a sip of pumpkin juice before saying, "I think we have four. Number One had two in the Weybridge house. Number Three had one in the London townhouse." We never referred to Blaise's stepfathers by their names. Blaise claimed that it was easier to keep track if he just numbered them off, but I knew it was easier on him to pretend they didn't have names and weren't real people. "If I remember correctly Number Four did as well, but I haven't been to our house in Osaka in years. There was one in Number Five's New York penthouse, but she passed away last summer."

Draco's mouth opened slightly, but he seemed at a loss for words. Not that I could blame him. I'd visited Blaise's "house" in Weybridge once during the summer of third year, and I'd spent the entire visit in the mansion with my jaw hanging around floor level. Sometimes I wondered if Blaise even knew how ridiculous his life was.

I waited until the conversation around us had moved on to other subjects before asking, "How's Number Six doing?"

"One of the better ones," said Blaise with a shrug. "He's off on business trips most of the time, so I don't see him much."

Making sure that no one else was listening in on our conversation, I said, "My dad spent most of the summer in India, so Astoria and I stayed at our mum's place. Except she had her new boyfriend around, and honestly, he isn't be much older than we are."

"The Welsh Chaser?" asked Blaise.

"The Welsh Chaser only lasted until March. Now she's moved on to a _Daily Prophet_ reporter."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blaise hesitate. Whenever Blaise hesitated like that, it meant that he was about to bring up a topic that neither one of us wanted to discuss. I gritted my teeth and braced myself for what was to come.

"This side character thing…" said Blaise, keeping his voice low, "it wouldn't have anything to do with your parents, would it?"

I poked him in the side with the handle of my fork.

It wasn't a hard poke, just enough to cause him to yelp in pain and pull away from me.

The others turned to stare at us, but I just smiled at them and proceeded to stuff my face with treacle tart.

"What'd you do now, Blaise?" asked Tracey.

"Nothing." Blaise rubbed his side and muttered under his breath, "I'll confiscate the silverware again."

"I'll eat treacle tart with or without silverware," I said. "Which would you rather see?"

Eventually, the desserts disappeared off the table, and the student body turned to face the teacher's table where Dumbledore rose from his chair to give the post-feast announcements. His voice, magnified by magic, filled the hall. "Well, now that we're all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices. First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students. And a few of our older students ought to know by now, too."

Dumbledore smiled affectionately at the Gryffindor table, and I bit back a comment about how any other student besides Potter would've been punished for going into the Forbidden Forest so many times. Tracey shot me a knowing grin.

Apparently unaware of his own blatant favoritism, Dumbledore continued. "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door. We have had two changes in staffing this year. We're very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons. We're also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Tryouts for house Quidditch teams will take place—"

Dumbledore broke off mid-sentence and turned to stare at the stout, pink woman who sat to his left. At first, I couldn't understand why Dumbledore had stopped, but then, Umbridge made a little clearing noise in her throat and got to her feet. A look of surprise flashed across Dumbledore's face, but he quickly recovered. As he sat down again, his blue eyes fixed on Umbridge, as if she was the most fascinating thing in the Great Hall right then (and this was a Great Hall with floating candles and an enchanted ceiling).

My friends and I exchanged can-you-believe-this-is-happening glances. I don't think anyone had ever dared to interrupt Dumbledore's start-of-term announcements before, and my respect for the woman-toad went up a little. Now, she just had to be a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I would have no problems with her. I wouldn't even mind that she wore so much pink.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome."

My liking for Umbridge decreased a little. She had one of those sugary voices that made her sound like she was trying too hard to be pleasant. I didn't have any problem with people faking niceness, but they needed to learn how to do so convincingly.

"Well, it's lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say," she continued. "And to see such happy little faces looking up at me."

I glanced around at my fellow Slytherins. Nott looked as though he might regurgitate his dessert, Tracey had scrunched up her nose in disgust, Pansy seemed to be restraining herself from throwing something, Draco looked momentarily stunned, and Blaise looked mildly amused.

Leaning over, Blaise muttered to me, "As long as she's good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, none of this matters."

"Please let her be competent," I said, hands clasped together beneath the table.

Umbridge had launched into a long speech about the Ministry's plans for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, using phrases such as "treasure trove of magical knowledge" and "without progress there will be stagnation and decay".

I'm terrible when it comes to lectures. I've fallen asleep in Transfigurations class before (Blaise had to kick me under the desk so that McGonagall didn't catch me napping) and I've never made it through Binns's class without doodling cartoons in the margins of my parchment notebook (I liked to draw epic showdowns between Hinkypunks and Cornish pixies). That's not to say I'm a bad student. I actually have one of the highest grades in our History of Magic Class, but that's because, while I get distracted easily when I have to listen for long periods of time, I'm a phenomenal reader.

Within the first two minutes of Umbridge's speech, I zoned out. And I wasn't the only one. All around the hall, students started to drift away from the sound of her simpering voice. After fifteen minutes, only a few people, besides the professors, remained attentive to Umbridge's words. One of those people was, of course, Hermione Granger, who had probably never ignored a professor in her life. At the Hufflepuff table, Ernie Macmillan was staring at Umbridge, but his eyes were glazed over. Even Draco Malfoy, who loved the Ministry interfering with Hogwarts, was now having a conversation with Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that both Nott and Blaise were still listening to Umbridge. The disgust on Nott's face had only gotten worse throughout the speech, and Blaise no longer looked amused. I decided to wait until Umbridge had finished her speech before asking them for the abridged version.

Tracey had managed to last a good while before even she gave up and admitted defeat to boredom.

I leaned forward and, in a whisper, asked, "What's she on about?"

Tracey shook her head and muttered, "She's Fudge's pet through and through."

"…Some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

When she finished speaking, Umbridge gave the Great Hall another simpering smile before taking her seat. Dumbledore clapped, and the rest of the staff followed his lead. The sound snapped the student body out of its slumber, and we applauded the most boring speech in the history of Hogwarts (and we had all taken Professor Binns' History of Magic class, so that's saying something).

As Dumbledore continued his announcements, I turned to Blaise and asked, "So, what was all that hippogriff shite about?"

"You need to pay attention," said Blaise.

"No one was paying attention," I muttered. "That woman could put the undead to sleep."

Nott ran his fingers through his messy, brown hair before saying, "Basically, the Ministry wants to reduce Dumbledore's influence at Hogwarts. They've already placed Umbridge here as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but in her speech, she mentioned getting rid of professors and practices that the Ministry doesn't approve of."

"So maybe they have sacked Hagrid," said Tracey thoughtfully.

"Finally," said Draco, "what kind of nutter made that clumsy oaf a professor?" He glanced in the direction of Dumbledore. "Oh right."

I had never taken Care of Magical Creatures—both Blaise and I had signed up for Arithmancy and the Study of Ancient Runes as our electives—but according to Tracey and Nott, Hagrid was an inconsistent teacher. So as much as I hated agreeing with Draco, he might be justified in his complaints about Dumbledore's choice in professor.

When the announcements had finished, we headed to our dormitory. Blaise got the password from Pansy, who was busy bossing the first years around, and we headed down to the Slytherin common room which, in order to keep with our villainous reputation, was located in the dungeons.

When we reached the stone that marked the entrance to the common room, Blaise gave the password, "bitis atropis," and the wall moved back to permit us into the Slytherin Dungeon. We walked down the stone passageway and stepped into a room of arching, black ceilings, stone floors, green rugs, emerald lamps, black sofas, and several fireplaces that were currently unlit. Tapestries of famous medieval Slytherins hung from the walls and black serpents had been carved into the tops of the pillars. At the back of the common room were two archways, one leading to the girls' dorms and one leading to the boys'.

A wide grin slipped onto my face as I sat down in one the black armchairs. I faced my friends and said, in my best croaky voice, "Welcome back to our evil lair. Here we shall do our plotting and begin our training to join the forces of the Dark Lord."

Tracey sighed. "Someone's going to overhear you one day and actually believe you."

"Our reputation is already bad," I said. "What more can I do? If you want to blame someone, blame Pansy and Draco."

Tracey frowned. "What does Draco do?"

"You know."

She stared at me, her lips pursed in confusion.

"You know…he goes around calling people mudbloods and antagonizes Potter and stuff."

A wide, triumphant grin appeared on Tracey's face. "You owe me a sickle."

I paused, and then it hit me. "Aw, pixie shite."

"You walked right in to that one," said Blaise.

"Come on," I wailed. "It doesn't count if you fool me into it."

"Not my fault you're so gullible," said Tracey. Blaise nodded in agreement.

I glanced at Nott, hoping he'd support me on this one (he was usually the trustworthy friend), but Nott just said, "You should've established the rules before you made the bet."

"Bloody hell!" I cried. "My friends are all evil."

A wicked grin spread across Blaise's face. "But, Daph, we're just keeping up our Slytherin reputations."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story! I hope you're enjoying it! Please leave a comment!


	3. Even Our Classes Are All About Potter

**Chapter Three: Even Our Classes Are All About Potter**

Fighting back a sigh, I examined the red marks on my arm where the self-fertilizing shrub had bitten me. "I swear, Herbology tries to kill me every year."

"Plants and you do not get along," said Pansy cheerfully.

"It could've been worse," said Tracey. "The shrub could've gotten the whole arm."

Tracey and Pansy were both in good moods—partly because they hadn't had a self-fertilizing shrub try to devour their arms and partly because we were currently on our way to Potions class. Of course, they were excited for Potions for two very different reasons. Tracey was actually very good at Potions; she enjoyed mixing all the ingredients together and making something new. Pansy, on the other hand, liked Potions because it meant that she could stare dreamily at Draco Malfoy while Nott brewed the potion for her.

Originally, Tracey and Nott had been partners who passed the class with ease, while Pansy and Millicent Bulstrode had struggled to brew even a passable potion. Then, because Pansy couldn't fail the class, she'd begged Tracey to switch with her. Neither Tracey nor Nott had been happy with the change, as Millicent had once referred to Tracey as an "almost muggle" and Nott hated hearing about how "dreamy" Draco looked.

"There you are," said Tracey when she caught sight of Nott and Blaise standing together further down the crowded corridor.

"Where'd you lot get off to?" asked Nott. "You were right behind us when we were coming back from the greenhouses."

"Pansy caught sight of Draco and we had to stop and admire the scenery." I rubbed my aching arm. Professor Sprout had stopped the bleeding and reformed the skin, but three red welts remained.

"That shrub got you good," said Nott, examining my arm with faint amusement.

"Why'd it bite you?" asked Pansy. "I didn't have any trouble with my shrub."

Blaise scoffed. "She started ranting about the dangers of the moving staircases, and the shrub decided it didn't want to listen to her voice anymore."

"It's your fault!" I whined. "You made a joke about staircase casualties."

"I made the joke, but you decided to read too far into it and question why no one's died on the moving staircases yet."

"Someone must've fallen off them at some point," I cried. "It's a dozen floor drop. Someone should have at least ended up in the Hospital Wing."

A skinny third year pushed past me, and I stumbled backwards into Nott. He caught my arm and righted me easily. Meanwhile, Pansy turned around to screech at the kid. "Watch where you're going, pig-head! There's a prefect walking here!"

"Ah, yes," said Nott. "It wouldn't be Hogwarts without Pansy's shrill voice in the mornings."

"I heard that, you beanstalk," snapped Pansy. "Just because you lot are my friends doesn't mean I won't give you detentions." She paused, her gaze fixing on someone through the crowd. I didn't have to look to know who it was. Sure enough, Pansy hurried off, crying, "Oh, Draco! Do you have a Potions partner for this year?"

We watched her bound after the blond ferret before shaking our heads at one another.

"She does know tailing after him like that is not doing her any favors, right?" asked Blaise.

Nott stared after Pansy, a hopeful look in his eyes. "Do you think Draco will want to switch partners?"

"You want to be paired up with Crabbe?" I asked.

Nott sighed. "At least Crabbe won't ask me if I prefer Draco's hair parted to the left or the right."

We reached the dungeons about the same time as Potter and his friends. Weasley and Granger were arguing about when was a suitable time to ask Cho Chang about Quidditch teams as they entered the Potions classroom. I was about to make some scathing comment about when would it ever be suitable for Ron Weasley to ask popular, pretty Cho Chang about Quidditch, but then I remembered that Harry Potter and his friends were not a part of my life and talking about them would lose me a precious sickle. I tried to copy Blaise's I-am-above-you expression as I strode past the Gryffindors to my seat.

Blaise settled on the other side of the desk, smirking at me. "What were you going to say?"

"What?" I pulled my textbook out of my bag and placed it on the desk next to my pewter cauldron.

"About Weasley," said Blaise. "The bet only concerns mentioning and referring to Potter. Weasley is fair game."

"I'm not falling for that again."

"I'm not trying to pinch money off you. I'm the one who was against this stupid bet in the first place."

My eyes narrowed, and I surveyed Blaise suspiciously. Let me go on record saying this: Blaise Zabini is attractive. With sharp cheekbones and large eyes that he'd inherited from his mother, he was a nine-out-of-ten. Maybe even a nine-point-five. In fact, in third year, when Pansy and I made a list of the Top Ten Fittest at Hogwarts, Blaise ended up Number Eight. Cedric Diggory had been ranked first, but, er, the spot was up for grabs now…

I opened my mouth to tell Blaise that I didn't want to talk about Potter or any of his friends when the door to the dungeon opened, and Professor Severus Snape, dressed in long, black robes, swept into the room.

"Settle down," said Snape in his usual cold tones. "Before we begin today's lesson, I think it is appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my…displeasure."

Sometimes, I think Snape has a really sadistic sense of humor. He must have watched our reactions to his final statement and found it absolutely hilarious—not that he showed any outward signs of amusement. Neville Longbottom had turned as white as a sheet, Pansy looked like she was about to fall of her stool, and Lavender Brown visibly gulped.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me." Snape looked pleased with this prospect. "I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye. But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell."

I tried to hold back my laugh, but it came out more of a soft snort. Blaise glanced over at me, eyebrows raised.

"So," continued Snape, thankfully not hearing me, "whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students. Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level—the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. The ingredients and method are on the blackboard. You will find everything you need in the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half…start."

Blaise had found the correct page of the textbook before Snape had even told us to begin and was now reading off the list of ingredients for me.

Blaise and I had a system. We'd been partners since first year, and we'd long ago established that I had minimal talent in brewing potions. So I did most of the grunt work, such as getting both our ingredients from the cupboard and cutting them, while Blaise did the most of the work for both cauldrons, such as adding the ingredients, managing the temperature, and stirring the brew. As long as it looked like we were both working hard, Snape never said a word.

"You know," I said in a low voice as I crushed the moonstone, "we'd never get away with splitting up the work like this if we were in another house. If we'd were Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs or, Merlin forbid, Gryffindors, Snape would give a week's worth of detention and throw us out of class."

Ignoring me, Blaise stirred his potion clockwise. I mimicked him, watching his movements carefully so I didn't screw up. Next, he added the powdered moonstone and, while I was dealing with next ingredient, he stirred both our potions three times counterclockwise.

"Personally," I said. "I like Snape 'cause he favors Slytherins. But objectively, I don't think he's a very good professor."

"Daph." Blaise nodded in Snape's direction. I didn't see what all the fuss was since Snape was on the other side of the room out of earshot, but then Blaise said, "There is such a thing as a listening spell."

I gulped as I imagined Snape overhearing what I'd just said about him; my Slytherin privilege would disappear, and I'd fail Potions just like Neville Longbottom.

Nervously, I kept my head down and worked on my potion for the rest of class—or, at least, I tried. Blaise did most of the work for me, and what he didn't do, I did under his supervision.

At one point, I could hear Millicent one desk over saying something about how Tracey was good at Potions for the daughter of a muggle. Nott chose that moment to get some additional ingredients from the cupboard, and while walking past Millicent, he "accidentally" knocked the sloth brain off the desk and into her lap. Millicent shrieked and forgot whatever she'd been saying to Tracey. I grinned at Nott as he walked back to his seat.

When there were ten minutes left in class, Snape called out, "A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion."

I examined Blaise's and my cauldrons: his was emitting dark silver steam while mine was letting off puffs of gray smoke. Mine wasn't perfect, but it was definitely "Acceptable" level. The system had worked again.

I glanced around the classroom and saw that only a few other students were having success. Draco, Nott, and Tracey's potions were also releasing gray vapors, while Potter and Pansy's potions had dark gray clouds. Poor Weasley's potion was actually letting off green sparks and clumsy Neville Longbottom had somehow managed to set the surface of his potion on fire. Only Granger had successfully created a light, silver vapor. Not that Snape noticed.

Snape passed by all the disaster potions without comment and chose to focus on Potter's dark gray clouds. With a sneer, Snape asked, "Potter, what is this supposed to be?"

Draco and Pansy snickered.

"The Draught of Peace." Potter's voice was flat, and he refused to look at Snape.

"Tell me, Potter," said Snape, "can you read?"

Draco actually laughed aloud.

"Yes, I can," said Potter stiffly.

Snape showed no reaction but only said, "Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

Squinting at the blackboard, Potter read aloud, "'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.'" The color drained from Potter's face as he realized what he had done wrong.

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?" asked Snape.

Potter's answer was inaudible.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

Potter took a deep breath and said a little more loudly, "No. I forgot to add the hellebore."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. _Evanesco_." With a wave of his wand, Snape made the contents of Potter's cauldron vanish. Snape ignored the stunned, frustrated expression on Potter's face and turned to the rest of the class, saying, "Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

As I moved to bottle up my potion, I felt a wave of hot indignation on behalf of Potter. His potion was far better than Weasley's and Longbottom's, yet it was Potter who would receive a zero for the day. I may not particularly like Potter, but even I could acknowledge that Snape was being brutally unfair.

I started to tell Blaise this when I remembered the bet. In silence, I placed my flagon on Snape's desk and moved back to my station to clean up my cauldron and knives.

There was risotto for lunch. I spooned the rice onto my plate, while Blaise looked on with disgust. He loathed the dish for some reason, so of course I always made a show of eating it in front of him.

"Daphne!" cried Pansy as I ate a bite of risotto with more enjoyment than necessary. "No carbs at lunch! Don't you remember the diet rules? No wonder you've been looking fatter around the middle."

I paused, spoon halfway to the plate stared at Pansy.

"She doesn't look any different," said Nott quickly.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to call your friends fat," added Tracey, who had a nice, healthy salad on her plate.

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't tell Daphne when she was gaining weight?" asked Pansy. "I'm just looking out for her."

I sat in mortification as my so-called friends discussed whether or not I had gotten fatter. Blaise was half-hidden behind his hands as he shook with silent laughter. I debated force-feeding him risotto as revenge.

And then, to make matters worse, a snide voice from behind me asked, "Who's gained weight?"

I twisted around to see Draco standing over me, wearing his usual stupid, smug grin. Crabbe and Goyle stood on either side of him, huge and menacing. Though, honestly, if we were going to talk about weight gain, we should be talking about Crabbe who had gotten even bigger over the summer, if that was possible.

"Daphne," said Pansy.

"You've gained weight?" asked Draco.

"She's been ignoring the rules of our diet," explained Pansy. "Having carbs for lunch is a big no-no."

"She looks fine to me," said Nott.

"Thank you, Nott," I said with a venomous glare in Pansy's direction. "You're my only true friend."

Blaise snickered and then said, loudly, "So what did you lot think of Snape's attitude towards Potter in Potions class?"

I glared at Blaise for bring up Potter, but then I realized that he was changing the topic to save me from further embarrassment. If only he'd picked something besides Potter to talk about…

"Potter can't even make a passable Draught of Living Death," said Draco with a laugh.

"His potion wasn't a disaster though," said Tracey. "It was better than Longbottom's, but you didn't see Longbottom getting a zero for the day."

"Snape has a special hatred for Potter," said Blaise. He glanced at me, daring me to say something about the Pottercentricity of the school, but I kept my mouth shut and my sickles in my wallet.

"It's nice to see someone who doesn't treat Potter like a saint though," said Pansy.

I shifted in my seat, biting back a comment about how Snape's treatment of Potter was still Pottercentric.

Blaise glanced at me and said, "But hating Potter more than the rest of the students still singles Potter out as special."

I almost hugged Blaise right then. He understood me so well.

"Potter's nothing special," scoffed Draco.

"But the whole school treats him that way," said Tracey.

"Even you give him special attention, Draco," said Nott. I silently applauded him. "Didn't you introduce yourself to him first year because he was Harry Potter." Nott paused and added, "And didn't he reject your handshake?"

Draco turned red about the ears. "Potter's an idiot."

Personally, I thought Potter knew what he was doing when he refused a friendship with Draco, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Daphne's turning purple," said Tracey with amusement.

Draco gave me a scornful look and said, "You do know how to breathe, don't you?"

I glared at him, and Blaise said, in a flat, bored tone, "She's trying to ignore Potter's existence for the rest of the year. If she mentions him to us, then she owes whoever calls her out on it a sickle."

Draco grinned at me. "Am I allowed in on this bet?"

My eyes narrowed and then I looked over at Blaise, expecting him to translate. Blaise rolled his eyes. There was no way he was going to tell Draco that I'd rather have my own wand shoved down my throat than give Draco even a knut of my money.

"Sure," said Pansy cheerfully. "If you're even short on money, just ask Daphne what she thinks of Potter competing in the Triwizard Tournament."

"It's a _tri_ wizard tournament!" I cried. "Tri means three. _Three_. But Harry freaking Potter gets to compete even though he's underage and the fourth wizard. Why?"

"Because the Goblet of Fire is a magically enchanted binding contact," said Blaise.

"Because he's Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived," I said, ignoring Blaise's comment. "If it had been Nott or Tracey or me who had been chosen for the Triwizard Tournament like that, Dumbledore would have found a way so that we didn't compete, but because it was Potter, Dumbledore let him break all the rules and participate."

"Potter gets away with so much in this school," said Draco, nodding.

"Exactly!" I cried, completely forgetting about the bet and the fact that I disliked Draco most of the time. I was just happy to have someone who understood how Pottercentric this school was. "If Gryffindor wins the House Cup one more time because of last-minute points, I swear, I will throw my wand at Dumbledore and storm out of the castle."

"I know what you mean," said Draco. "First year here was cruel. We worked hard to earn those h ouse points, answering questions in class, doing well on homework assignments, and helping teachers out where we could, and then all those house points were meaningless because Potter—Saint Potter—broke a million school rules."

I winced as I remembered how happy us Slytherin first years had been at the end of year feast, only to have to victory yanked away from us as the green flags in the Great Hall had been transformed to red before our very eyes.

"Well," said Tracey, "he did stop You-Know-Who from getting the Philosopher's Stone."

"He could have talked to a teacher," I said, "like any normal eleven-year-old would."

"But no," sneered Draco, "Potter had to be a hero and save the school all by himself."

"He could have gotten himself and his friends killed," I added. "He survived on dumb luck."

"And instead he gets rewarded for his stupidity," said Draco.

I nodded. "I don't care how perfect and heroic Potter is—I expect equal treatment! Breaking rules means detention. End of story."

Draco was nodding enthusiastically while Crabbe and Goyle followed suit. Tracey and Nott looked faintly amused by my rant, while Blaise was wearing his usual I'm-so-above-this expression.

Pansy gave a little cough and held out her hand to me.

I stared at her pale palm for a moment, uncomprehending. Then, with a sigh, I reached into the pocket of my shoulder bag and found a sickle.

* * *

After lunch, we parted ways, and I headed to the Ancient Runes classroom with Blaise and Nott. Pansy and Tracey had both elected to take Divination for some reason. According to them, the class was fun because they could invent horrible predictions for the future and Trelawney would praise them for their genius. I didn't understand why anyone would want to take a class like that, but their loss, not mine.

The Study of Ancient Runes with Professor Bathsheda Babbling was one of my favorite classes and one of the two subjects (the other being Arithmancy) in which I could sometimes beat Hermione Granger. After we had settled in our seats, Babbling gave us yet another speech about the importance of our OWLs (though she was much nicer about it than Snape), and then, we spent the rest of the class translating ancient runic texts. I finished long before Blaise and Nott and then passed the time bragging about my superior language skills until Nott threatened to curse me.

After Ancient Runes was double period Defense Against the Dark Arts with, unfortunately, the Gryffindors. Classes were the Gryffindors were always a pain. Mainly because the Slytherin students would make snide comments about the Gryffindor students and the Gryffindor students would make snide comments about the Slytherin students and no one would get any work done. It was not an environment conducive to learning.

To make matters worse, Blaise and Nott had taken too long to pack up their things after Ancient Runes, and we'd barely made it to Defense Against the Darts Arts classroom on time. Blaise and Nott darted to grab the only empty desk, which forced me to choose between the two available seats in the room—the one next to Millicent Bulstrode (who smelled faintly of rotten eggs) or the one next to Neville Longbottom (who was dangerously clumsy). As much as I loathed Millicent, who had once called me "a nosy bitch" and was mean to Tracey on a regular basis, my Slytherin pride refused to let me sit by a Gryffindor. Sending a venomous glare in the direction of Blaise and Nott and ignoring the pitying smiles from Pansy and Tracey, I settled in the empty chair at the desk I now shared with Millicent.

I faced the front of the classroom where Professor Dolores Umbridge, wearing her fluffy, pink cardigan and a black velvet bow, sat behind the teacher's desk. She beamed at the class and said, in her sickly sweet voice, "Well, good afternoon!"

A couple people—all Gryffindors—muttered "good afternoon" halfheartedly in reply.

Under the desk, I clasped my hands together in some sort of silent prayer. _Please let Umbridge be a good teacher. Please let Umbridge be a good teacher. Please let Umbridge be a good teacher. It's OWL year, and I really need to pass Defense Against the Dark Arts. Please let Umbridge be a good teacher._ I could put up with her voice and her outfits and her personality as long as she knew how to teach.

Umbridge shook her head. "Tut, tut. That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

I hated myself even as I said, in time with the rest of the class, "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge."

"There, now," said Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

My stomach sank as I put my cedar and unicorn hair wand away in my shoulder bag. I had a bad feeling about this. I glanced over my shoulder at Blaise and saw that his face showed the same bitterness as I felt. It looked like we were in for another year of uneducational and dull Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.

"Well now," said Umbridge, rising from her seat. "Your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She tapped the blackboard with her wand and the list of course aims appeared in curling, white writing.

I picked up my quill, but rather than write down the boring course aims ("understanding the principles underlying defensive magic", "learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used", and "placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use") I doodled in the margin of my parchment notebook.

Millicent saw my drawing of Giant Squid and made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. I drew a stick figure of Millicent about to be eaten by the Giant Squid. Completely forgetting about the course aims, Millicent sketched a picture of me about to be eaten by a giant toad (her art was much better than mine). I glanced up at Umbridge and was impressed by the likeness to Millicent's drawing.

When everyone else had finished writing down the course aims, Umbridge asked, "Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a murmur throughout the class. A couple people agreed. Crabbe grunted. I think Nott swore under his breath.

"I think we'll try that again," said Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge."

I moved my mouth to the words along with the rest of the class, but I let no sound come out.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

As I opened the book to chapter one, I found myself actually missing Gilderoy Lockhart and the Cornish pixies he'd set loose on the students. At least that had been entertaining.

I skimmed over the first page of the chapter. Reading and understanding textbooks had never been difficult for me, and I could get high marks on any written exam. It was the wandwork of the Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that had always mystified me. I was renown among the Slytherin students for, in third year, setting the common room on fire while trying to transform a rock into a matchbox. If Umbridge wasn't going to teach me wandwork, then I would have to find some other way of learning the material for the OWL (and by "other way of learning", I meant forcing Nott to teach me).

When I was about halfway through the chapter, I looked up and saw that Hermione Granger had her book closed on her desk and her hand thrust in the air. Her gaze was fixed on Umbridge, who in turn, was determinedly ignoring Granger.

I was determined to pretend that Potter's two best friends didn't exist as well. However, it was difficult to ignore Granger when two-thirds of the class were staring at her instead of reading their textbooks.

Umbridge soon realized that as long as Granger's hand was in the air, the class wasn't going to get any work done. With a small tut-tut to clear her throat, Umbridge asked, "Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Not about the chapter, no," said Granger.

"Well, we're reading just now." Umbridge's voice poured over the room like honey. "If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Granger.

As much as Granger's overachieving goody-two-shoes attitude annoyed me sometimes, I had to admit the girl was pretty ballsy. Well, I supposed she was in Gryffindor for a reason.

"And your name is…" said Umbridge slowly.

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully." Umbridge smiled, showing all her teeth.

"Well, I don't," said Granger. "There's nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells."

If I were in any other house but Slytherin, I would've applauded the girl. But I had a reputation to uphold, and everyone knew that Slytherins and Gryffindors hated each other on principal.

"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge let out a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

I wondered if stabbing Umbridge with my quill would make her rethink her teaching methods. After all, she would no longer be able to guarantee we wouldn't get attacked in class.

"We're not going to use magic?" asked Weasley loudly from his seat next to Potter.

Umbridge pursed her lips. "Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.—?"

"Weasley."

Potter, Granger, and Weasley raised their hands in the air. Umbridge looked over all three of them, probably wondering if she could get away with ignoring the Golden Trio. However, since everyone in class was watching her curiously, she had little choice but address their questions one by one. She deliberately passed over Potter and said, "Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Granger. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Umbridge.

"No, but—"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is." Umbridge's voice was really grating on my nerves. "Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—"

"What use is that?" Potter finally got tired to being ignored and spoke out of turn. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a—"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" snapped Umbridge.

As Potter thrust his hand in the air, I couldn't help feeling a wave of irritation towards him. _Yes_ , I thought, _even Saint Potter has the raise his hand like the rest of us common people._ I regretted my thoughts a moment later. I shouldn't take out my frustration on Potter; it wasn't his fault that Umbridge was a complete cow. I was just annoyed because now even our rubbish Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson was going to be about Potter. Just wait and see, somehow this conversation about course aims was going to end with Potter versus Umbridge.

Umbridge had decided to ignore Granger, Weasley, and Potter. She instead turned to another Gryffindor asked, "And your name is?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?" Umbridge's voice had lost its sweetness.

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Thomas. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free—"

Umbridge's smile became frighteningly wide. "I repeat—do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

Thomas hesitated. "No, but—"

I was sorely tempted to attack one of my fellow classmates just so Umbridge could stop arguing that stupid point.

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said. "But you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed—not to mention, extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Well, I would never argue that Gilderoy Lockhart wasn't irresponsible, but at least we had learned the disarming spell from him—which was more than we would learn from Umbridge at this rate.

"If you mean Professor Lupin," said Thomas, determined to defend his favorite professor, "he was the best we ever —"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas!" snapped Umbridge. Her smile momentarily vanished, but it quickly returned with a vengeance. "As I was saying—you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—"

"No, we haven't," said Granger. "We just—"

" _Your hand is not up, Miss Granger_!"

Umbridge's shrill voice caused me to jump in my seat. I glanced over my shoulder to see how my fellow Slytherins were taking her words. Nott looked like he'd rather take his own eye out than be in this class any longer, Tracey and Pansy were exchanging frustrated glances, and Blaise was halfheartedly flipping through the pages of his textbook. Even Draco looked annoyed by Umbridge's refusal to teach us magic.

Not noticing, or perhaps ignoring, her class's irritation, Umbridge continued talking, "It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you—"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Thomas. "Mind you, we still learned loads—"

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" Umbridge ignored him when he did raise his hand. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about."

Parvati Patil's hand shot up.

Umbridge offered her a toad-like smile and asked, "And your name is?"

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

I silently applauded Patil. It was nice to know that not all Gryffindors were stupid.

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Umbridge.

"Without ever practicing them before?" asked Patil incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

That was exactly what Umbridge was telling us, which meant Nott was going to stay up late on weekends teaching Blaise, Pansy, Tracey, and me everything he knew about counter-curses and the Dark Arts. That was how we'd all managed to pass this class for last four years.

"I repeat," said Umbridge, "as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Potter, hand high in the air.

"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," said Umbridge. Her voice frighteningly calm.

I gripped the edge of my desk and glared at the back of Potter's head. This conversation was about our education; it had nothing to do with his feud against the Ministry. But somehow, Potter was going to make it about him.

Potter's face was red with anger. "So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh yeah?" Potter's shoulders were trembling with frustration.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" asked Umbridge.

Her voice had returned to its previous sweetness, and a chill ran down my spine. Potter was making a mistake. I knew it. Some part of me wanted to tell Potter to stop before he gave Umbridge exactly what she wanted, but the more sensible part of me remained rooted to my seat, watching the scene unfold.

Sarcasm dripped from Potter's words. "Hmm, let's think…Maybe Lord Voldemort?"

Weasley gasped. Longbottom nearly fell off his stool. Lavender Brown actually screamed. Draco was smirking. Tracey looked at me and mouthed the words "Dark Lord". I snickered, and Millicent gave me a murderous glare. Blaise continued to look bored with the whole process, still half-heartedly flipping through the pages of his textbook.

Umbridge didn't even flinch at the name "Voldemort". A large, toothy smile spread across her face and she said, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

My smile had faded, and I was back to watching Umbridge with narrowed eyes.

"Now," said Umbridge, addressing the whole class, "let me make a few things quite plain."

I blinked in surprise when her squinty eyes fell on me for a second. Then, her gaze moved on to Thomas and she said, "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"

"He wasn't dead," cried Potter, "but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself." Umbridge managed to say all that in one breath, which, I hated to admit it, was pretty impressive. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is _not_ a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Umbridge. A strange triumph glittered in her eyes. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'."

Just as Umbridge sat down behind her desk again, Potter leapt to his feet.

"Harry, no!" cried Granger, tugging at the sleeve of his robe.

But her warning did no good. Voice trembling, Potter asked, "So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

Several of my classmates gasped. Potter had notably never talked about what happened to Cedric Diggory. Everything we'd heard about Diggory's death had come from Dumbledore, so there were several rumors floating around that there was some Potter-Dumbledore conspiracy surrounding Diggory's death. Even though I was a fan of conspiracy theories, I was an even bigger fan of Cedric Diggory. He had been good-looking, good natured, and an all-around good bloke. And so, I actually supported Potter's outburst against Umbridge. For once, I didn't care that this class had become about Potter's rebellion against the Ministry. Diggory deserved to be acknowledged as a victim of the Dark Lord, and this pink-clad toad wasn't going to deny him that.

From her desk, Umbridge looked Potter over from head to toe and then said, "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

"It was murder," said Potter. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

A hush had fallen over the classroom as every set of eyes looked from Potter to Umbridge and back to Potter. Umbridge's face was blank, emotionless. Right then, she looked like a complete nutter; she could've thrown a chair at Potter and I wouldn't have been surprised. Then, in her sweetest, sickliest voice, she said, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."

If I were Potter, I would've run screaming in the opposite direction.

But, well, Potter wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. He got to his feet and slowly made his way past the rows of students to the teacher's desk. Umbridge pulled out a pink quill and a piece of parchment from her handbag and wrote something down. She then handed the parchment to Potter and said, "Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear."

Potter clenched the note in his right hand and, after grabbing his things from his desk, left the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Read chapter one, dears," said Umbridge.

I drew her tombstone in the margin of my textbook instead. It looked like we might just have the worst Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in the history of Hogwarts this year. Oh joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Some Girls Go Quidditch Crazy

**Chapter Four: Some Girls Go Quidditch Crazy**

"According to the rumor mill, Potter got a week of detention with Umbridge for his tantrum in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Tracey, lounging about in one of the common room armchairs.

It was the first Tuesday night of the school year, and as per usual, the five of us had claimed the back corner of the common room, by one of the fireplaces, as our area. Weeknights in the Slytherin Dungeons were almost always crowded, as students came here to do their homework together. The younger students were noticeably absent tonight, while fifth years and up were already pouring over their mountains of work.

Almost our entire year of students was in the common room, quills and parchment out. Crabbe and Goyle sat next to one of the fireplaces, watching as Draco read and underlined his Herbology textbook, and sitting with their sixth-year friends, Millicent and Georgina worked on the Transfiguration homework that was due first thing tomorrow morning.

In our corner, Blaise and Nott sat on the leather couch, trying to decipher their Ancient Runes reading. I had offered to help them, but they refused, saying they couldn't put up with my condescending attitude. So instead, Pansy, Tracey, and I sat in the armchairs around the unlit fireplace, doing our Transfiguration homework and talking loudly about school gossip. Unfortunately, most of that gossip involved Potter, which meant I had to remain silent if I wanted to keep my money.

"What's an Umbridge detention like?" asked Pansy. "Is it as bad as a Snape detention?"

"I've heard all sorts of things," said Tracey. "Apparently, Ernie Macmillan's telling the Hufflepuffs that Potter's being forced to organize all her cat teacups, coding them by cat color and size."

"That's a load of piss," I muttered, unable to help myself.

"That counts as talking about Potter." Tracey held out a hand for her sickle.

Leaning back in my chair, I scowled at her and said, "I'll give it to you later."

"I'm already three sickles richer, thanks to you," said Tracey cheerfully. She turned to Pansy and continued, "But according to Jessica, who heard it from Padma Patil, who heard it from her sister, who saw it first hand, Potter's has the words 'I must not tell lies' etched into his arm. Jessica said she's heard of bewitched quills that do that sort of thing. Instead of writing with ink, the quill writes with your own blood."

"That's disgusting!" squealed Pansy.

Nott looked up from his homework. "I've heard of quills like that too. It's illegal to buy or sell them in Britain."

"Great," muttered Blaise, his eyes still on the runic text in front of him, "so our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor owns and uses a Dark Arts quill to punish her students." He glanced over at me, as if expecting me to comment. But since we were still in Harry Potter territory, I kept my mouth shut.

"Draco told me where Hagrid is today in Care of Magical Creatures," said Pansy suddenly.

"Really?" I asked, excited for the topic change.

"Draco only brought the subject up because Potter asked Grubbly-Plank how long she would be teaching for," said Nott. He cast a smug look in my direction, knowing he had just cut me out of the conversation again.

"Apparently, Hagrid's been talking to the giants," said Pansy. "Dumbledore wants some allies in the war against the Dark Lord, so he sent Hagrid and that half-giantess from Beauxbatons to Belarus to bargain with them."

"And how does Draco know all this?" asked Tracey.

Blaise snorted. "Do you even need to ask?"

Tracey glanced over at Nott. "You're supposed to keep us informed about the Dark Lord, not Draco, remember?"

"Unlike Lucius Malfoy, my father doesn't tell his son everything," said Nott. "But he did mention to me that Macnair was going to Minsk over the summer."

"You have to tell us these things," I said, looking up from my Transfiguration homework. "You know how important my future Death Eater status is to me."

Nott scoffed but said in a low voice, "I overheard my dad talking about the Order."

"The Order?" I asked, leaning forward to hear better. "What's that?"

Nott hesitated, as if debating telling us something, but whatever it was he decided better of it, because he only said, "It sounded like it had something to do with Dumbledore."

"Probably Dumbledore's movement against the Dark Lord," said Blaise. He glanced over at me and added, "Which probably means Potter's involved."

I scowled. "I'm not paying you a sickle for that. I had no way of knowing he was involved."

"She shouldn't pay you for that," said Nott.

Blaise shrugged. "Worth a shot."

Trying not to pry any further into the Order matter (though I was dying to know what Nott wasn't telling us), I turned my attention to the Transfiguration book in front of me. However, any progress on our homework was interrupted by the loud laughter of the Quidditch team. The two beaters had graduated last year, which meant that their gang (because the Slytherin Quidditch team was definitely a gang) had been reduced by two members. As the team's seeker, Draco was technically part of the group, but because he and the now-captain Graham Montague challenged each other for the Biggest Prick position, Draco stayed clear of the team except during practices.

"Slytherin tryouts are this Saturday," said Pansy dreamily. "We should go watch."

"You just want an excuse to ogle Draco on a broom," I said.

"Please," begged Pansy. "I don't want to go alone."

"I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon," I said honestly.

Tracey nodded in agreement. Blaise and Nott were suddenly occupied with Ancient Runes.

"Think about it." Pansy grabbed my arm. "Fit Quidditch players on broomsticks."

"My mum dated a Welsh Chaser," I said flatly. "Do you know how many Quidditch games she dragged Astoria and me to? And do you know how exhausting it is to listen to Astoria talk about how fit they are. No, thank you. I'm done with Quidditch players for the rest of my life."

Pansy's eyes narrowed, and in a calm, deadly voice, she asked, "Who here is the Slytherin prefect?"

"Pixie shite," I said. "You're not pulling that prefect stuff on me."

"Do you want to see what detention with Umbridge is like?" asked Pansy with a glowing smile.

* * *

Saturday morning, before the sun had even fully risen over the horizon, Pansy, Tracey, and I sat in the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch and waited for the members of the Slytherin team to arrive.

I was sprawled out on the wooden seats, my Arithmancy book open in my lap and my breakfast of buttered toast in my hand. Tracey sat beside me, fiddling with the sleeves of her jean jacket and yawning every few minutes. Pansy was the only one of us happy to be there. She had her omnioculars out and was inspecting the attractiveness levels of the people on the pitch.

"Adrian Pucey is fit," she said. "I caught a glimpse of him shirtless once. He has _abs_."

"That's nice," I murmured.

Tracey yawned. She had zero interest in Slytherin's all-male Quidditch team.

Pansy lowered the omnioculars from her eyes and turned to glare at us. "You know, I support your hobbies! Daph, when you wanted to go to that numerologist's lecture in Hogsmeade, I went with you."

"Blaise and I didn't want you to come," I said. "You invited yourself along because you heard that the numerologist was fit."

"Tracey," continued Pansy, completely ignoring me, "when you wanted to check out the school choir, I went with you."

"And got us kicked out because you complained loudly that there were too many mudbloods in the room," said Tracey.

"That's not the important part!" Pansy waved away our words. "The important thing is that I participated in all your weird hobbies, so the least you can do is check out Quidditch players with me."

"You had to threaten us to get us here," I said, "and now you expect us to enthusiastically objectify the players with you?"

"The only reason to go to a Quidditch tryout is to look at the players," said Pansy.

I finished off my breakfast before saying, "Didn't you go see the Gryffindor tryouts with Draco and the minions yesterday? Did Draco check out the players with you? Did he think the Weasley twins were fit?"

Pansy glowered at me. "We were spying on the opposition. It was tactics." She snickered. "Did you know Ron Weasley is their new keeper? Gryffindor is screwed this year."

I kept my mouth shut. Ron Weasley fell into Harry Potter territory.

In an attempt to change the subject, Tracey said, "Millicent and Georgina like fit Quidditch players." She pointed to the opposite side of the pitch, where the two girls were seated in the bleachers. "Why don't you ask them to join you?"

"Georgina called me 'snobby, selfish bitch'," said Pansy. "Like I'm going to spend one second of my time with that slag."

Tracey and I exchanged glances. We had long ago agreed that someone would one day explain to Pansy exactly why she was a snobby, selfish bitch, but we had also decided that we wouldn't be the ones to tell her.

"Didn't you and Georgina make up though?" asked Tracey. "Wasn't that the drama of the Yule Ball last year?"

"Of course we did," said Pansy, "but that doesn't mean I've forgiven her."

"Urg. You're here." A familiar voice filled with familiar disgust came from behind me. I looked up to see hazel eyes, chestnut hair, and a prettier version of my face. My younger sister, Astoria, stood in the bleachers, surrounded by her fellow third-year Slytherin girls.

"Hey," I said, waving a hand in greeting. "You here to watch tryouts?"

"Ella's trying out for Beater," said Astoria, taking a seat on the wooden bench behind me. "You?"

"Pansy's here to stalk Draco," I said.

Astoria scowled at Pansy's back. My sister had always loathed Pansy. I didn't think too hard about why though; Pansy had one of those personalities that grated on people's nerves. That being said, the other third-year girls actually idolized Pansy. They saw her as the pretty, older Slytherin girl who had dated Draco Malfoy (no one had the heart to tell the girls that Pansy and Draco's relationship was more like puppy and owner than girlfriend and boyfriend).

"Where's Blaise?" asked Astoria, looking around for him. "I rarely see you two apart."

"Probably sleeping," I said. "He and Nott managed to avoid the tyrant." I pointed at Pansy's back.

"Tracey!" cried Pansy's grabbing the poor girl by the arm. "Draco's here! Doesn't he look good in those robes? Green's definitely his color!"

Astoria wrinkled her nose at Pansy's back.

"So how was your first week of classes?" I asked.

"I had Divination for the first time," said Astoria.

I laughed. "I've heard stories about Trelawney."

"You're the smart one," said Astoria. "I should've taken Ancient Runes."

"Just be really morbid and dramatic in your predictions and you'll be fine," I said. "Come on, even Goyle can ace that class."

Astoria's smile quickly faded, and she said, "I got a letter from Mum this morning."

We both knew what letters from Mum meant. During the school year, she only ever remembered our existence when something really good or something really bad had happened with her boyfriend of the time. Two years ago, we'd gotten a long letter talking about her engagement with the Belgian curse-breaker, and then the next month, we'd gotten an even longer letter talking about what an arsehole the curse-breaker was and how the engagement was over. Last year, we'd received a letter about how she'd met a Welsh Chaser and how happy they were together and how they traveled all over the world together. She broke up with the Welsh Chaser in March and then met the _Daily Prophet_ reporter that she was currently dating. A letter from her now meant either he had proposed or they had broken up.

"So what happened with the reporter?" I asked.

"She caught him cheating with his co-worker," said Astoria dully. "But never fear—she met a Ministry soliciter named Samuel Blackthorn. He invited her to travel to Norway with him next weekend."

"Great. Just great." I stared down at my Arithmancy textbook. Usually, I was more than happy to read about my favorite subject, but right then, I couldn't bear to look at numbers. I shut the book and shoved it into the bag at my feet. "Was she at least sober when she met the solicitor?"

"Funny," said Astoria. "Her letter didn't say."

We both watched in silence as the other third year girls surrounded Pansy and chatted happily with her about the Slytherin Quidditch players. Pansy was practically preening like a peacock when one girl called her "Draco's girlfriend".

The one good thing about Pansy's fanclub was that Tracey was finally able to make her escape from the tyrant and join Astoria and me.

"So many mini-Pansys," said Tracey with a shudder. "It's bad enough with just one of her around."

Astoria scowled at Tracey and said, "They aren't mini-Pansys."

"Look at the way they flock around her," I said. "They sort of are mini-Pansys."

"My friends are smart girls," snapped Astoria. "They just don't know what Pansy's really like yet. All they see is the cool, older Slytherin girl who stands up to Harry Potter and his friends."

I kept my mouth shut but gave Tracey a sharp look, urging her to explain why Pansy's actions weren't "standing up to" anyone.

"Daphne would love to tell you that Pansy doesn't stand up to Potter and his friends, she bullies them to impress Draco," said Tracey. "But Daph isn't talking about Harry Potter right now, so she can't open her mouth or she'll owe me a sickle."

Frowning, Astoria looked from Tracey to me and back. "You're joking, right?"

Tracey shook her head. "Daph's making some stand about how she's her own person, not a side character in Harry Potter's life."

Astoria snorted. "Daph, you're stupid."

I was dying to explain to her that by "standing up" to Harry Potter and his friends, we Slytherins were placing Potter in the position of our antagonist. In reality, Potter had done nothing to us, and it was only because he was "Harry Potter" that we regarded him so highly. By ignoring Potter's existence (or, at least, trying to), I was attempting to remove Potter from that pedestal. So far, though, my efforts were failing miserably.

Tryouts continued for the next couple hours. The Slytherin team was missing two Beaters and a Chaser. There were about six people aiming for the beater positions, but to my surprise, the most impressive candidates were Crabbe and Goyle.

"Who would've thought they were good at something besides following Draco around," said Tracey.

"They're always been good at bullying," I said. "Now they get bats and can bully people in the name of the sport."

Tracey shook her head. "At least poor Longbottom isn't on the Gryffindor team."

Tracey and I had a moment of silence for Neville Longbottom, who had been a longtime target of Crabbe and Goyle's bullying. More than once, Tracey had considered telling the minions to leave poor Longbottom alone (after all, he got enough crap from Snape), but one look at Goyle's muscles and Tracey always decided Longbottom could look after himself. Well, no one ever said Slytherins were brave.

"Adrian Pucey is actually pretty good," said Tracey, watching the Chaser candidates race around the pitch on their brooms.

"A lot of my friends like him," said Astoria.

Tracey nodded. "Pansy rants about how fit he is when she's mad at Draco for something."

I shrugged. I'd give Adrian an eight-out-of-ten. But it didn't matter; my heart refused to be moved until I found someone as good-looking as Cedric Diggory.

"A lot of girls say Roger Davies is perfection on a broom," said Tracey.

"Oh, he is." Astoria leaned back in her seat. "Shame he went out with that veela girl from Beauxbatons last year." She let out a forlorn sigh. "As if I could compete against a veela."

"I heard Davies is an idiot," I said.

"Who told you that?" asked Astoria. "He's in Ravenclaw. He's even captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team—how can he be an idiot?"

"Sue Li," I said. "She says he's book smart, and he knows a hell of a lot about Quidditch strategy, but once, during a game pep talk, he said, 'Legends are forgotten over time, warriors are never forgotten' and then paused to appreciate his own wisdom."

Tracey laughed. "What does that even mean?"

"Whatever," said Astoria. "He doesn't have to be smart as long as I can look at his pretty face all day."

"You're as bad as Pansy," I muttered.

Astoria gasped. "Take that back!"

It was approaching noon and still the tryouts continued. Goyle knocked one of the Chaser candidates off his broom, and Crabbe broke someone's nose. The captain Graham Montague, a seventh-year Chaser, looked very pleased with the bloodshed Crabbe and Goyle had caused so far. As for the Chaser candidates, the Slytherin Keeper Miles Bletchley had blocked almost every shot thrown his way. Only two candidates had managed to get through, sixth-year Ian Urquhart and seventh-year Adrian Pucey. From the looks of it, Adrian Pucey would make the team and Urquhart would be the reserve. It helped that Adrian Pucey was friends with Graham Montague.

"So what time did Pansy make you lot wake up?"

I looked over my shoulder to see Blaise standing in the bleachers behind me, holding two crumpets. Nott stood next to him, scowling out at the Quidditch pitch. I figured Blaise must have brought him, since Nott preferred to avoid Quidditch as much as possible. Quidditch represented just another thing about him that disappointed his father. The men of the Nott family had apparently all been members of the Slytherin Quidditch team until Nott, and the fact that Nott preferred Care of Magical Creatures classes to flying lessons frustrated his father to no end.

"Too early," I said to the boys. "Did you bring me food?"

Blaise handed me the second crumpet and sat down next to me on the bleachers. "How's the team look this year?"

"We've had better," I said. "I miss Flint."

"Flint was an arsehole," said Tracey.

"Yeah," I agreed, "but he was a damn good Chaser."

No one argued that point.

Just then, Pansy spotted Blaise and Nott. With a squeal in lieu of greeting, she hurried up the bleachers to join us. Her admiring crowd followed.

"So you'll never guess what brilliant idea Jesse just had," said Pansy, waving a hand in one of the third-year girls' direction.

Blaise managed a weak smile. "What?"

"I was telling them about the Gryffindor tryouts yesterday," said Pansy, "and about how Ron Weasley couldn't save a thing. And Jesse said, 'We should be glad someone as bad as Weasley isn't our keeper. He'll be our king come the Slytherin-Gryffindor match.'"

Blaise nodded, though he didn't understand a word Pansy was saying.

"So Weasley is a shite keeper," I said. "Why do we care?"

"'Weasley cannot save a thing'," said Pansy.

"'He cannot block a single ring'," piped up Jesse. She turned red when Blaise looked at her.

"'That's why Slytherins all sing'," said Pansy, adding a little tune to the words now, "'Weasley is our king.'"

We stared at Pansy blankly.

"Oh good," I said, my voice flat. "You made a song."

"Why?" asked Nott. He sounded genuinely confused.

"Because Weasley struggles with nerves," said Pansy. "It was so obvious at tryouts that even Crabbe and Goyle noticed."

"You want to write a song about Weasley so his nerves get to him," said Nott slowly.

Pansy nodded, her dark eyes were wide and eager.

After a moment, Tracey admitted, "Not a bad idea."

"That's what I thought," said Pansy, sitting down next to Nott. "We need more verses though."

"'He always lets the Quaffle in'," said Tracey, throwing a random line out there. "Except that doesn't rhyme with 'king'."

"And we Slytherins are known for our poetic skills," muttered Blaise.

No one else heard the joke but me.

"We should make sure to insult his home," said Pansy. She had pulled a piece of parchment and a quill out of her shoulder-bag and was writing down the lyrics in her elegant cursive writing. "Weasley always gets upset when we talk about how poor his family is."

"What rhymes with 'in'?" asked Jesse. "Ain, bin, cin, din, ein, fin, gin, hin, jin, kin, lin, min, nin, oin, pin, quin, rin, sin, tin, uin, vin, win…"

"Weasley will make sure we win," said Astoria.

"Oh that's good," said Pansy. "'He always lets the Quaffle in. Weasley will make sure we win. Weasley is our king.'"

"We need another line," said Jesse.

"'Weasley was born in a bin'," said another third-year girl.

I cringed and said, under my breath, "What beautiful poetry…"

"'Born in a bin'?" repeated Blaise, shaking his head. "I know his family is poor…but a bin?"

We listened as Pansy and the girls tried to come up with another verse but in the end settled for just repeating, "'Weasley is our king, Weasley is our king, he always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our king.'" I refused to contribute to the song, because while I could appreciate Pansy's brilliant tactics, there were certain lines I didn't like crossing. Coming up with a song to torment Ron Weasley was one of them. I might talk bad about him to my friends from time to time, but I would never say anything to his face.

Tryouts ended with Montague announcing the newest members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Tracey's and my predictions were right when Montague named Adrian Pucey as the newest Chaser and Crabbe and Goyle as the two Beaters.

It was just past noon when Blaise, Nott, Tracey, Pansy and I left the pitch and made our way back up to the castle. The Great Hall was reasonably full for a Saturday lunch, conversation buzzing over plates of sandwiches, salads, pastas, and fruits. Tracey and Pansy picked a spot at the end of the Slytherin table, furthest from where the professors sat, and we all settled into onto the benches. The plates of fish and chips looked delicious, but the moment I started to reach for the fried food, Pansy sent me a murderous glare, and I remembered our diet. Grimacing, I filled my plate with fruits and vegetables. Blaise, however, noticed my misery, and when Pansy wasn't paying attention, he slipped me some chips under the table.

"Draco!" shrieked Pansy as the Slytherin Quidditch team, cleaned up and exhausted from tryouts, appeared through the doors of the Great Hall.

"Calm down," said Tracey as Pansy leapt up from her seat. "It's not like this is some rare sighting—we see him every day."

"Unfortunately," muttered Nott, and I couldn't agree more.

The sound of Pansy's voice drew Montague (whose crush on her had started sometime last year) over to us, and with Montague came the entire Slytherin Quidditch team. A look of horror crossed Tracey's face when Cassius Warrington, the seventh-year Chaser with a fat head (literal and figurative), sat next to her. Nott looked repulsed when Goyle settled on his left, and Pansy did her best to ignore Montague when he slid into the seat beside her. Draco sat as far away from Pansy as he could with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him. To make matters even worse, Adrian Pucey decided to take the empty spot next to me.

"Hey, Daphne," said Adrian, helping himself to the plate of fish and chips. "You came to watch tryouts today?"

"I came to watch Pansy watch tryouts," I said.

Adrian frowned. "What?"

"Pansy always gets what she wants," said Blaise.

"She's frightening like that," I said.

Blaise nodded. "She's going to take over the world one day."

We both shuddered.

"When that happens, I'm moving to Antarctica," I said.

"I like penguins," agreed Blaise.

"Can I come?" asked Adrian.

I considered briefly. "Only if you know how to make igloos."

"Igloos don't come from Antarctica," said Blaise, always the know-it-all. "They're North American."

"They're houses made of ice. Antarctica has ice, right?" I said. "Therefore igloos work in Antarctica."

Adrian nodded. "She has a point."

"Don't encourage her," said Blaise. "The moment Daph thinks she's right about something, she goes crazy with the idea."

I couldn't exactly argue with the truth. I settled for making a face at Blaise and helping myself to salad.

Adrian grinned at me. "Sometimes crazy is good."

I swallowed a mouthful of lettuce and said, "Depends on the type of crazy. There's me crazy and then there's Pansy crazy…"

Adrian and I turned to watch as Pansy attempted to shout down the table at Draco, while Montague desperately tried to carry out a conversation with her about how her summer went.

"I prefer your crazy," said Adrian.

"Me too," I said.

Talking to Adrian Pucey was surprisingly enjoyable. I had figured that, as he was friends with Montague, Adrian would be the worst of the worst, but he was actually a decent bloke. He liked the Weird Sisters, he was also a fan of the Appleby Arrows, and he was almost as bad at Herbology as I was.

After lunch, the seventh years headed for the library, while we headed back to the Slytherin common room, Draco talking loudly about how he was going to beat Potter for the Snitch this year for sure. I hung back from the rest, and Blaise followed suit, knowing I had something I wanted to say.

"I'm impressed you didn't curse Draco off his broom today," said Blaise.

I snorted. "The temptation was there."

He waited to see if I was ready to talk about whatever was bothering me yet, and when I said nothing, he asked, "How's your sister doing?"

"All right." I hesitated and then added, "We got a letter from Mum today. She broke up with the cheating reporter. She's dating a solicitor now."

"I see." That was all Blaise said and that was all Blaise needed to say. If anyone was going to understand what Astoria and I were going through, it was Blaise. After all, his mother was on her sixth husband; he knew all too well what it felt like to watch man after man come and go in his mother's life.

At first, Astoria and I were wary of the boyfriends. We thought they were trying to replace our dad. Eventually, we met one that we really liked, and we started to see him as father-figure, someone we could rely on. But he left, just as they all did, breaking our mum's heart in the process and our hearts as well. After that, Astoria and I learned to avoid the boyfriends. It was better to not get attached. Attachment just meant disappointment in the end.

Blaise understood all of this. He'd told me one that Husband Number Three had been a great man, the owner of a wizarding manufacturing company. Number Three would give young Blaise tours of the factory, talking about magical innovations to bring the wizarding world up to modern times. Blaise had admired the man, but Number Three had died of a heart disease when Blaise was eleven, and Husband Number Four appeared three months later.

The difference between our mothers, however, was that Letizia Zabini used men like accessories whereas Elizabeth Greengrass used men like floatation devices.

"Ah, well," I said, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. "It could be worse."

"Yeah," said Blaise. "The Dark Lord could still be alive."

I nodded. "That'd be terrible. Even worse, Fudge could be in complete denial, letting the Dark Lord orchestrate his return to power in secret."

Blaise faked a horrified cringe. "Even worse, our incompetent Minister of Magic could have given us a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who won't let us use magic."

"Even worse," I said, "he could have given her to us during our OWL year."

Blaise nodded. "That would be really fucked up."

Blaise and I made eye contact and the entire act fell apart. We started laughing, loud enough that the others stopped walking and turned to stare at us.

"What's so funny?" asked Draco.

Blaise and I just shook our heads, unable to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The creation of "Weasley is our King". What do you think? I always wondered how Hogwarts didn't ban the song after that first match, but I guess Umbridge would've liked the song and in a simpering voice said, "Well, it's not doing any real harm" when someone suggested banning it. 
> 
> What do y'all think? Please leave a comment!


	5. No One Likes The High Inquisitor

**Chapter Five: No One Likes The High Inquisitor**

The next week passed with much suffering. My professors were all trying to run me to the ground. We learned vanishing spells in Transfiguration, which I found nearly impossible. Blaise and I had stayed up until the small hours of Wednesday morning until I could vanish a snail properly. Then, we reviewed summoning spells in Charms class, which I'd promptly forgotten how to do after exams last year. Hannah Abbott and I had hung out in the library for almost seven hours Thursday night, making (or trying to make, in my case) books fly from the shelves. In Herbology, at least, the shrubs and I had reached an agreement of sorts where if I didn't talk loudly, they wouldn't try to eat me.

The weekend had been much appreciated. On Friday, Tracey, Pansy and I stayed up late, rewriting the Hogwarts' Fittest List with Roger Davies coming in first for the boys and Zoe Accrington coming in first for the girls. Pansy accepted her sixth place ranking, though I don't think she's fully forgiven Tracey and me for putting Cho Chang as second. Saturday, I had brunch down by the Great Lake with Sue Li and Stephen Cornfoot. Then, that night, Nott and I snuck into the kitchens to get a midnight snack from the house elves. We almost got caught by the Gryffindor prefects, but thankfully, Nott's spellwork was much better than mine, and he managed to distract Weasley and Granger. When we returned to the common room, Pansy was furious. At first, we thought that she was finally being a proper prefect and wanted to scold us for being out after hours, but then Blaise explained that it was because we didn't bring her back any chocolate éclairs.

Sunday had been dedicated to homework. Tracey and I worked our arses off trying to finish our Herbology essays on time. Adrian Pucey came into the common room at four in the morning to find Tracey and me crying over our parchments, and even though he was dreadful at Herbology, Adrian stayed to help us finish in time.

Monday morning, Tracey and I dragged ourselves down to the Great Hall for breakfast. We were running on less than three hours of sleep and felt like the Giant Squid had swallowed us and puked us back out.

"You look beautiful," said Pansy, grinning at us over her morning cup of pumpkin juice.

Tracey mumbled something in response and nibbled on a croissant, completely forgetting that carbs for breakfast wasn't part of our diet.

"Look at this." Blaise shoved his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ under my nose.

"I'm too tired to read," I said, making myself a cup of tea and almost forgetting to add the hot water.

"'Ministry Seeks Educational Reform'," said Blaise, reading the article title aloud, "'Dolores Umbridge Appointed First Ever "High Inquisitor"'."

"Wa' da frack?" asked Tracey through a mouthful of croissant.

"Get this," said Pansy, leaning forward in her seat, "They interviewed Percy Weasley—you know, the older brother—and he's anti-Potter and anti-Dumbledore."

I glared at Pansy. She knew mentioning Potter meant I couldn't join the conversation.

"Listen," said Blaise before continuing, "'Educational Decree Twenty-Three…creates the new position of "Hogwarts High Inquisitor". This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the "falling standards" at Hogwarts… The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch… The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts—"

"Not my parents," scoffed Tracey. "I told Mum about Umbridge last week, and she sent back a letter, saying she was going to complain to Dumbledore and that I can't have a teacher like that during my OWL year."

"As long as it's anti-Dumbledore," said Nott grimly, "my dad's all for it."

Blaise and I exchanged glances. Our parents either didn't know or didn't care about Hogwarts's "falling standards".

"They have a quote from Lucius Malfoy," said Blaise, turning his attention back to the article. "He says, 'I feel much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation… Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and will be glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.'"

"Aw," said Tracey, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "Lucius Malfoy is just so concerned about our well-being."

"Well," said Pansy, "it was dangerous to have a werewolf as our teacher and that half-giant has proven to be an inconsistent professor."

"Lupin actually taught us stuff," said Nott. "Unlike Umbridge."

"Hagrid has the occasional good lesson," added Tracey. "I liked the hippogriffs."

"Wasn't that the lesson where Draco's arm got slashed open because he insulted the hippogriff?" I asked with a dreamy smile. That hippogriff was my hero.

"It was horrible!" cried Pansy. "Draco had gone all pale and there was blood everywhere."

Nott glanced in my direction and wisely decided to steer the conversation away from Draco Malfoy. "I can't believe Umbridge is going to be inspecting other professors."

"Government regulation of schools isn't unusual," said Blaise. "But the inspections aren't usually done by another professor."

"Imagine her inspecting Snape," said Tracey with a laugh.

"Or McGonagall," I added.

"I'd wouldn't be surprised if McGonagall turned her into a toad halfway through the lesson," said Pansy with a giggle.

The rest of breakfast was spent imaging different teachers being inspected by the High Inquisitor. We had Herbology first period, but much to our disappointment, Umbridge was not in the class (we would've enjoyed watching one of the plants try to eat her). Instead, we moved on from self-fertilizing shrubs to Chinese chomping cabbages. By the time the class had ended, I had bite marks all over my forearms.

Afterwards, we had double potions with the Gryffindors. Blaise and I had barely settled in our seats when Snape swept into the classroom and handed back our graded homework assignments from last week.

"I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL," said Snape. "This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination." He reached the front of the room and turned to face the class. "The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D's."

Malfoy released a barely concealed laugh. "Some people got D's!"

I examined the black E at the top of my paper on moonstones and breathed a sigh of relief. With a teacher like Snape, it helped to be in his house. I glanced over at Blaise and saw the O in the corner of his parchment.

"Show off," I muttered, shoving my essay into my bag.

As per usual, Blaise and I prepared our potions together, and by the end of the class, both of our Strengthening Solutions were the proper shade of turquoise. With a feeling of triumph, I placed my labeled flagon on Snape's desk and went to pack up my things.

"How'd you do on your essays?" asked Tracey as we made our way to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Acceptable," said Pansy.

"Exceeds Expectations," I said.

Blaise and Nott made eye contact, and then Blaise gave Pansy a comforting smile and said, "An 'Acceptable' isn't bad."

"What did you get?" asked Pansy.

"Outstanding," said Blaise and Nott almost in unison.

"Same," said Tracey cheerfully.

"Pansy," I muttered under my breath, "I vote we slip poison in their morning pumpkin juices."

Blaise laughed. "You can't even make a Strengthening Solution without me, Daph, how do you expect to make a poison by yourself."

As we reached the entranceway for the Great Hall, we heard shrill laughter to our right. I looked over and saw a group of fourth-year Ravenclaw girls giggling amongst themselves. There were about four of them in the group, and they were all leaning on each other as they laughed at a Hufflepuff boy who appeared to be around their age. The poor boy had been hit what looked like a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and he clung to one of the stone pillars in an attempt to keep himself upright. When his legs collapsed beneath him and he landed on the hard floor, the Ravenclaw girls laughed even harder.

Pansy puffed out her chest to show off her prefects' badge and started making her way across the Entrance Hall. Pansy, of course, had no love for Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, and I doubted she cared one whit for the boy being jinxed, but she loved showing off her power over others and this was the perfect chance to do so.

"Hey, horse-head," said Pansy.

To her shame, one of the Ravenclaws looked up in response to "horse-head".

"No spells in the corridors between classes," said Pansy. "And especially not spells against other students. Detention. All of you." She gestured to the Ravenclaw girls. "You should be glad it'll be with Flitwick instead of Umbridge." Pansy gave them a nasty grin. "I hear she makes you write in your own blood."

The color drained from the girls' faces, and they certainly weren't laughing anymore. However, Pansy was merciless as she asked "horse-head", "dog's-breath", "newt-face", and "flobberworm" their real names so she could report them. Then, with a smirk of triumph, Pansy turned around and rejoined our group of friends. Of course, throughout all this, she'd completely forgotten to undo the Jelly-Legs Jinx on the poor Hufflepuff boy, and Nott quickly cast the counter-spell before following us into the Great Hall for lunch.

Students jinxing each other between classes was nothing new. In my opinion, it was the inevitable side effect of teaching a bunch of kids magic, and as much as the professors tried to control the students, we were all idiots and there was no stopping it.

Ravenclaws were the worst of the lot when it came to jinxing other students. They liked to be considered one of the "nice" houses and remained in most professors' good books, but in truth, Ravenclaws were a bunch of know-it-alls who often wanted to try out a new spell on some poor, unsuspecting underclassman. However, no one really held grudges against the Ravenclaws because at least they treated everyone the same: they hexed Gryffindors for being prats, they hexed Slytherins for being rude, they hexed Hufflepuffs for being too nice, and they even hexed other Ravenclaws for being know-it-alls.

Gryffindors and Slytherins didn't hex others nearly as often as Ravenclaws did, but people complained about them more. Occasionally, a "funny" Gryffindor will hex a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw for a joke, and an elitist Slytherin will throw a spell in the direction of a muggleborn, but for the most part, the two houses focused on each other. However, unlike Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin hexing battles reached a whole different level of mean. I still remembered the fights leading up to the final Quidditch match of the season in my third year. Two students ended up in the Hospital Wing with leeks for ears, Potter couldn't walk anywhere without tripping, Marcus Flint's head had been shrunk to half its regular size, and Angelina Johnson had been rushed to Madam Pomfrey with pus spurting from her nose. Needless to say, no one wanted to get involved in a Gryffindor and Slytherin fight if they could avoid it.

Hufflepuff was far and away the best house, or so Hannah Abbott liked to remind me on a regular basis. They very rarely started fights in the corridors, and often they wouldn't even seek revenge if another student did hex them (something the other houses seemed incapable of doing). The only time Hufflepuffs ever really jinxed someone was when they'd seen that person bullying another student. I still remembered the time in fourth year where Cedric Diggory had stopped a Gryffindor student from hitting Tracey with a Pimple Jinx. I would never be a Hufflepuff, but one had to admire them.

Our lunch was spent primarily talking about what had happened in the Entrance Hall and why those fourth-year Ravenclaws had jinxed the poor boy. In the end, we all agreed on the theory that the boy had dared to ask one of them out and was now going to be traumatized for the rest of his life. Pansy thought she should ask Flitwick for an extra week's detention just for that.

After Pansy had reported the Ravenclaws to their head of house, it was time for our elective classes, and we parted ways. Ancient Runes was fun for me and torture for Blaise and Nott who could never seem to remember the runes. I think they were relieved when the class ended and we headed to Defense Against the Darks Arts—a subject they knew they were better than me at.

After the bell ran to signal the beginning of class that afternoon, Umbridge began the lesson with her usual "Wands away." A few overly optimistic students put their wands back in their bags and took out their textbooks. Tracey and I, who shared a desk this time, had our copies of _Dark Arts Defense_ already open in front of us, prepared for the painfully dull lesson we were about to have.

"As we finished chapter one last lesson," said Umbridge, "I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

I had finished chapter one last week and had continued onto chapter two in an attempt to keep myself occupied. Now, I flipped to chapter three and started skimming over the pages of the textbook. Every once in a while, I'd add a doodle of a stick figure putting a hex on toad-Umbridge to the margins.

"Granger's at it again," muttered Tracey under her breath.

I looked up from my doodle and saw that, sure enough, two desks in front of me, Hermione Granger had her hand raised in the air and her gaze fixed on Umbridge. Umbridge was trying to ignore her, but as more and more students stopped doing their work and started to watch, Umbridge had little choice but to ask, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read chapter two," said Granger.

I rolled my eyes. Nott and I had all finished chapter two as well, but we weren't going to brag about it. Common sense said to move on to chapter three.

"Well then, proceed to chapter three," said Umbridge with a toothy smile.

"I've read that too," said Granger. "I've read the whole book."

Tracey scoffed. "Overachiever."

I had never seen a surprised toad until I saw Umbridge's blank face. She quickly recovered, however, and said, "Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in chapter fifteen."

"He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named," said Granger without missing a beat. "He says 'counter-jinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."

Umbridge was impressed against her will.

"But I disagree," said Granger.

Umbridge's expression grew colder, and in a low voice, she asked, "You disagree?"

"Yes, I do," said Hermione loudly. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you?" said Professor Umbridge. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

Granger opened her mouth to argue. "But—"

"That is enough," said Professor Umbridge, rising from her seat and moving to the window. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."

The Gryffindor students all scowled at this, while Tracey and Pansy exchanged smug smiles.

"What for?"

No one was surprised when Harry Potter's voice filled the classroom.

"Don't you get involved," hissed Granger.

I agreed with Granger. No one liked Umbridge's lessons, but that didn't mean we had to argue with her every single class period. Why couldn't Potter—and Granger, for that matter—put their heads down and pretend to do work like the rest of us for just one class.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them—with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects—would have passed a Ministry inspection—"

"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," said Potter loudly, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

I hid a laugh behind my textbook. Tracey heard and turned to stare at me. I tried to pass the sound off as a cough; I refused to admit that Harry Potter had an impressive sassy streak.

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge.

I sighed and returned to the book in front of me. Potter and detention was quickly becoming the norm in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

* * *

"Can you believe it?" hissed Hermione Granger, her sharp voice interrupting my attempts to solve Problem Seventeen on the Arithmancy worksheet. "Umbridge is Hogwarts' first High Inquisitor."

Ernie Macmillan glanced around nervously as if afraid someone might overhear their conversation and take away his shiny prefect badge. In a low voice, he said, "Well, there are some teachers who ought to be sacked. You know about Professor Trelawney, right? You walked out of her class third year, didn't you?"

"Still," said Granger hotly, "it's _Professor Dumbledore's_ decision."

Tuesday had brought with it beautiful weather, and sunlight streamed in through the window of the Arithmancy classroom, while the few fifth-year students who had decided to take a math class instead of Care of Magical Creatures or Divination were pouring over sheets of numbers.

Personally, I enjoyed Arithmancy. I liked learning how to predict the future and detect signs of magic with numbers, learning a way to understand magic beyond just saying random words and waving a wand. It was the most mentally challenging class I was taking, but it was also the most interesting. And of course, I was also very good at it.

"Did you get Problem Twelve?" asked Blaise, leaning over to examine the scribbles on my spare piece of parchment. "The number 823,543 keeps coming up."

"It's seven multiplied by itself seven times," I said.

Blaise squinted at the parchment in front of him. "It is?"

"Magical numbers multiplied by themselves occurring naturally indicate magical interference," I explained.

"I know that," said Blaise. "But what does that have to do with—"

"Did you hear what happened?" asked Granger. "Umbridge inspected the fifth year Divination class."

Macmillan nodded. "I heard Umbridge demanded that Trelawney make a prediction on the spot."

"Harry told me," said Granger. "That Trelawney—as per usual—predicted grave danger and Umbridge scoffed and said 'Well, if that's the best you can do…'"

"She said that in front of the whole class?" asked Macmillan, scandalized.

Granger nodded.

I'd always liked Tuesdays because I had no classes with Gryffindor house. The only Gryffindor I had to see the entire day was Hermione Granger in Arithmancy, and today, she was doing her best to make up for the absence of the rest of her house.

I turned to Blaise and said, more loudly than necessary, "Is 859 a prime number?"

Blaise opened his textbook and flipped to the table of prime numbers in the back. "Looks like it."

"How can they force that horrible woman on us?" asked Granger. "And fifth year too. We've had bad Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in the past, but she's the worst by far. I don't want to fail my OWL just because the Minister of Magic doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who is back."

I glared at Hermione's back. Yes, Umbridge was terrible. Yes, the Ministry shouldn't be interfering with Hogwarts like this. Yes, we would all like to pass our OWLs. But _some people_ were actually trying to do their Arithmancy work right now and didn't want to hear about what a horrible person Dolores Umbridge was.

"Try not to kill her," muttered Blaise.

"Justin, Zacharias, and I were talking about getting the older students to teach us," said Macmillan. "They've already passed their Defense Against the Dark Arts OWLs, so they know what will be on the test."

"That's a good idea," said Granger. "But are the older students willing to teach the material? Don't they have their own exams to study for?"

"We haven't asked yet," said Ernie.

Granger went very still all of a sudden, as if she was considering something. I didn't think too hard on the meaning behind Granger's silence though, as I could finally work on Problem Seventeen in peace.

* * *

"Daph," said Hannah Abbott, as patiently as possible, "please concentrate. I don't want to have to put out any fires this time."

We were sitting in Charms class wands out and textbooks open. Flitwick had decided to start out the year by doing some revision, which meant we had already practiced the Summoning and Banishing charms and were now moving on to the fire-making spell. Last year, it'd taken me three weeks to learn how to perform the spell with moderate efficiency. That had been three weeks of Hannah ducking and dodging the spout of flames coming from my wand; she had become very good at putting out fires.

"Sorry," I muttered. I pointed at the unlit candle placed on desk between us and, with a flick of my wand, said, " _Incendio_."

The corner of the desk caught on fire.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," said Hannah with a wave of her own wand.

The fire vanished, leaving only a black scorch mark on the desk's surface.

"Oops." I grinned sheepishly. "Have I ever told you that you're the best Charms partner ever?"

"Every year," said Hannah with a smile. "But really," she added, lowering her voice, "you should ignore Umbridge."

"How can I ignore her?" I asked.

We both glanced at the front of the room where Umbridge, clad all in pink, sat behind Flitwick's desk, making notes on her little clipboard. I hadn't seen Umbridge evaluate a professor yet, though I'd certainly heard a lot about it from Tracey, Pansy, and Nott. Apparently, Umbridge had been present for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson, and she'd been praising Grubbly-Plank while dropping sharp jabs at Hagrid. Pansy had been hopeful that Hagrid would be fired if he ever returned, while Nott and Tracey admitted they preferred Grubbly-Plank as a teacher.

Flitwick, it seemed, had no problem with Umbridge, and he had welcomed her into the classroom as if she were a long-lost friend. He'd returned our graded homework assignments, talked to us about the theory of the fire-making charm, and then had us pair-off to practice the spell. He was orderly, informative, and practiced in his teaching methods; Umbridge had nothing to complain about. Except, maybe, my inability to set a candle on fire.

"I had her for Muggle Studies," said Hannah in a low voice. "She did much the same. Asked a few questions. Wondered if Muggle Studies was really an appropriate subject. Asked the professor a couple questions and then left."

"Did she really ask if Muggle Studies was an appropriate subject?" I asked, mortified.

Hannah nodded. "Professor Burbage gave her a long lecture on the importance of cultural awareness."

"Good," I said. As I turned back to the candle, I muttered, "Our Ministry representative is a wizarding elitist. Great."

"She used to be in Slytherin," said Hannah with a wry smile at me. She had listened to more than one of my Slytherin reputation speeches.

"I've never been more ashamed of my house," I said. "But really—of all the people the Ministry could have given us, they chose Umbridge."

"Don't talk too loudly," said Hannah.

I opened my mouth to start a long rant about how there should be laws limiting the Ministry of Magic's interference with the school's curriculum, and someone should inspect Umbridge as well, but just then I noticed that Umbridge's gaze was fixed on me, and I decided it was safer to keep my mouth shut.

Hannah waved her wand and said, " _Incendio_ ". Immediately, a small flame appeared at the top of the candlewick.

I glowered at her.

"Practice," said Hannah. "That's all it takes."

"That's what McGonagall said when I failed to vanish my mouse yesterday," I muttered.

"You still can't vanish your mouse?" asked Hannah. She tried to hide her shock when she noticed my murderous glare.

"It turned opaque," I said grimly. "Which isn't exactly vanished. But Blaise and I have been practicing every night, so I'll get there eventually."

Hannah glanced over her shoulder at the back of the classroom where Blaise and Pansy were taking turns setting their candle on fire. Hannah turned pale and quickly looked away before Pansy caught her staring. For some reason, Pansy terrified Hannah.

"She's not that scary," I said. "You just have to know how to handle her. _Incendio_."

A ball of fire formed over the candle instead of just one small flame.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," said Hannah, waving away the flames with her wand. "She's a bully. I don't know how you're friends with her."

"She's fun." I tried to find the right words to describe Pansy. "Yes, she says some mean things, but I think she'll grow out of that. Personally, I think it's her obsession with Draco that's the real problem. She keeps trying to impress him by tormenting the younger students."

"And Neville," said Hannah in a soft voice. The tops of her ears turned bright red.

I rolled my eyes. "I don't get what you see in Longbottom—he has a pet toad."

"Don't judge people by their pets."

"Haven't you heard the saying that people come to look like their pets?" I asked. "Just imagine what Longbottom's going to look like in five years' time."

Hannah bit her bottom lip and tried not to smile. "Really, Daph?"

I jerked my head in Umbridge's direction and said, "I bet you anything our High Inquisitor used to have a toad for a pet."

Hannah glanced over at Umbridge's squat build, flabby face, and wide mouth. Covering her mouth with her hand, Hannah collapsed into a fit of giggles. "No!" she whispered between laughs. "Neville will never look like that."

Umbridge glanced over in Hannah's direction with a disapproving scowl.

I waved my wand, tried to picture Umbridge's broad face instead of the candlewick, and said, " _Incendio_."

The sleeve of my robe caught fire.


	6. A Meeting To Which I Was Not Invited

**Chapter Six: A Meeting To Which I Was Not Invited**

"Umbridge inspected our Transfiguration class," Sue Li told me as we made our way through the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade.

October had brought with it strong winds, and our first Hogsmeade weekend of the year was bitter, cold, and gusty. Sue had her blue and bronze Ravenclaw scarf pulled up over her mouth to keep her warm. Her black hair was tugged in all directions by the wind, and loose strands kept coiling on top of her head. Her boyfriend, Stephen Cornfoot, walked beside her, his cheeks red and his eyes watery. I was sure I looked no better. I had to keep pushing my ash-blonde hair out of my face, and the ends of my silver and green scarf kept flapping in the wind.

"How'd that go?" I asked loudly, trying to be heard over the miserable weather.

"McGonagall was not happy," said Sue. "Umbridge kept interrupting her and asking how 'Ministry approved' her methods were."

I laughed. "I wish I could've seen McGonagall's face."

"McGonagall's a badass," said Stephen cheerfully.

We walked past Zonko's Joke Shop, and I spotted the red-haired Weasley twins and their friend Lee Jordan coming out with shopping bags. Then we passed the post office with dozens of owls flying to and from the roosting tower. A little ways down the street, we saw a wooden sign depicting a boar's severed head leaking blood. The sign swayed back and forth in the wind, but we could still make out the words "Hog's Head".

Sue wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Let's go to the Three Broomsticks."

"It's always crowded," complained Stephen. "I bet there's plenty of room in the Hog's Head."

He saw Sue and me glaring at him and let out a laugh. We'd let Stephen talk us into going to the Hog's Head once before—the bartender had served us firewhiskey in filthy glasses despite us being underage, and we'd returned to the castle that evening sick and slightly drunk.

"Just joking," said Stephen with a nervous laugh. "You two take everything so seriously."

Stephen and Sue were the first people I'd made friends with at Hogwarts. We'd shared a compartment on the train, and well, some friendships just sort of stick—even after I got sorted into Slytherin. Taking trips to Hogsmeade was our "thing", and even after Stephen and Sue had started dating last year thanks to the Yule Ball, we continued to visit Hogsmeade together. I fully embraced my role as the third wheel.

"There's always Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop," said Stephen, his grin widening.

Sue sighed and turned to me. "Why are we friends with him again?"

"I don't know," I said. "You're the one who snogs him on a regular basis."

The three of us had gone to Madam Puddifoot's once because Sue had wanted some tea. We'd entered the pink, fluffy paradise and been seated before we could realize what a big mistake we'd just made. All of Madam Puddifoot's tables were made for couples, which meant the three of us were crammed around one miniscule tea table. Then, we were given strange looks by the couples who were on dates; Stephen swore he overhead one girl asking her boyfriend if polygamy was legal in Scotland.

"I vote the Three Broomsticks," said Sue. "No matter how crowded it is, it's better than the Hog's Head or Madam Puddifoot's."

"I second that," I said, readjusting my scarf. "I need a butterbeer."

"Am I the only one who doesn't like butterbeer?" asked Stephen as we started back down the cobblestone road. "It reminds me of cheap cream soda."

"Where do you get cream soda from?" asked Sue. "It tastes like butterscotch—" She broke off, her gaze caught on someone down the road.

I followed her line of sight and saw a curly, red-haired Hogwarts' student entering the Hog's Head, a blue and bronze scarf wrapped around her neck.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"Why is Marietta Edgecombe visiting the Hog's Head?" wondered Stephen.

"I don't know," said Sue. "But Cho was with her."

"Who's Marietta Edgecombe?" My knowledge of the Ravenclaw students was rather lacking. The only Ravenclaw student outside our year that I knew were the attractive blokes and Cho Chang.

"She's one of Cho's friends," said Sue. "All I know is she giggles a lot."

"You can always hear her in the common room," said Stephen, shaking his head.

"It's a pain when you're trying to do Charms homework and all you hear is Marietta's high-pitched giggle," added Sue.

"What's going on?" asked Stephen abruptly.

The three of us watched as another Hogwarts student entered the Hog's Head. This one was a petite girl with white-blonde hair and dreamy expression on her face. Judging by her scarf, she was another Ravenclaw student.

"Is Ravenclaw house having a meeting in Hog's Head that you two don't know about?" I asked.

"There is no way Luna Lovegood got invited and we didn't," said Sue. "Her dad runs _The Quibbler_ , and she's, uh, sort of out of it."

Tracey liked to read _The Quibbler_ as a comedy piece, so I knew exactly what Sue was talking about.

"But aren't those girls in Gryffindor?" asked Stephen, pointing down the street.

We watched in silence as the three Gryffindor Chasers (I think their names were Johnson, Spinnet, and Bell) made their way to the front door of the Hog's Head and slipped inside.

"They do know the Hog's Head is unsanitary, right?" asked Stephen.

"They're not going there for the drinks," I said. "They obviously want to be left alone."

"Why?" asked Sue.

"And why weren't we invited to this?" asked Stephen.

We continued to watch as two tiny Gryffindor boys who might have been brothers entered the Hog's Head followed by four Hufflepuffs. I recognized Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley even though they had their heads bowed against the wind, and I was shocked to see Hannah slip into the Hog's Head behind Susan Bones. I couldn't believe Hannah would join this secret club of Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs and not tell me. I folded my arms across my chest and gritted my teeth against the sharp wind. Hannah was in for the interrogation of a lifetime next Charms class.

"Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot," said Sue, naming each one of the fifth-year Ravenclaw boys who entered the Hog's Head after Hannah.

Not long after them came the red-haired Ginny Weasley and then Zacharias Smith, the arsehole of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. The last three people we saw enter the Hog's Head were the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan.

Sue, Stephen, and I waited a little longer to see if anyone else was coming for the meeting, but it seemed everyone had arrived.

"Should we go in and see what it's all about?" asked Stephen.

I couldn't help but notice that no Slytherin students had entered the Hog's Head. I knew we didn't have the best reputation in school, but a small part of me hurt to know we'd been entirely left out of this super-secret meeting.

"Nah," I said. "I want a butterbeer."

"Really?" Sue was surprised. "Aren't you usually all over conspiracy theories?"

"You know there's some real good gossip going on in the Hog's Head right now," added Stephen.

"I'm reforming my ways," I said, starting down the street again in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. "Besides, if so many people are in the Hogs' Head, then the Three Broomsticks is probably less crowded than usual."

In total honesty, a part of me wanted to storm into the Hog's Head and demand to know what was going on—maybe throw in a good rant about how unfairly they were treating Slytherin house. But another part of me thought that a secret meeting off-campus had to have something to do with being away from the prying eyes of Umbridge (otherwise they would've had the meeting at school and not wasted their Hogsmeade trip), and I didn't want to break up any movement against Umbridge's reign. Besides, judging by the people who had entered the Hog's Head (the high amount of Weasleys), I figured Harry Potter was involved. After all, he was main character of our school—if there was going to be a movement against Umbridge, it would only be right that Potter was behind it. And I refused to get involved with Potter's life.

* * *

That night, when we were recounting our Hogsmeade adventures, I thought about mentioning the super-secret Hog's Head meeting to my friends, but I didn't trust Pansy not to go running to Draco with the news. Draco, being a my-dad-works-for-the-Ministry prat, would definitely tell Umbridge, and that would be the end of the anti-Umbridge movement. I didn't want that. Instead, I just told my friends that Sue, Stephen, and I had gone to the Three Broomsticks.

Instead of going to Hogsmeade, Pansy had stayed at school because of prefect duties, but she'd been happy to do so since it meant she'd be with Draco. Tracey, on the other hand, had gone with some sixth year Ravenclaw girl, but it had ended when the Ravenclaw girl's friends had seen them and made snide comments about low-standards to go to Hogsmeade with a Slytherin. Tracey had waited for the girl to say something on her behalf, but when the girl had only stammered something about "slim pickings" at Hogwarts, Tracey had stormed off. Thankfully, she'd run into Blaise and Nott, and the three of them had gorged themselves on sweets at Honeydukes.

I'd planned to tell at least Blaise about the meeting that night, but Tracey had begged him to help her with her Transfiguration homework, leaving me alone with Pansy and Nott. I trusted Nott, of course, but for some reason, Pansy refused to leave the common room without me, so in the end, I'd just said a sad "goodnight" to Nott and went upstairs.

By the time Sunday came, I was so busy with homework that I completely forgot to tell my friends about the movement. It wasn't until Monday morning, when we passed by the Slytherin noticeboard on the way to breakfast and Nott spotted Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four, that I remembered.

"'All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded'," Blaise read aloud. "'An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge… Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.'"

Pansy gasped. "Does that include the Slytherin Quidditch team?"

Rather than Quidditch, my mind went first to the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff students slipping into the Hog's Head. That was definitely a meeting of three or more students, and somehow, I didn't think Umbridge would approve of whatever kind of student organization, society, team, group, or club that had been formed in the Hog's Head.

"I'm sure Draco and the Quidditch team will be fine," said Blaise, still staring at the noticeboard. "I think Umbridge is targeting a different kind of club."

"And she likes Slytherin," said Nott. "It's the Gryffindor Quidditch team that should be worried."

"Maybe she'll threaten Potter with the reformation of the Gryffindor Quidditch team," said Blaise thoughtfully. "To get him to keep his mouth shut in class."

"I heard she likes giving Potter detention though," said Tracey. "It shows she's in control."

"It's the Ministry's doing," said Nott. "My dad was telling me over the summer about how Fudge—the nutter—is terrified Dumbledore's trying to form a student army and take over the Ministry."

I let out a snort of laughter. "What?"

"Fudge has crazier theories than you, Daph," said Tracey, shaking her head.

"This is ridiculous," I said as we made our way up to the Great Hall for breakfast. "I'm pretty sure Dumbledore could become Minister of Magic all on his own if he wanted to. Didn't someone offer him the position a few years ago?"

"Dumbledore could have any job he wanted," said Blaise. "Does Fudge really think the Gryffindor Quidditch team or the Gobstone Club is going to take over the Ministry?"

I snickered. "You really have to watch out for those gobstone players. They're sneaky bastards, the lot of them."

By the time we had reached the Great Hall, the conversation had changed to whether or not Nott could beat the Gobstone Club at their own game (I would put my money on "yes"). As we settled down in our regular seats at the end of the Slytherin table, I wondered if I could find a spare moment to tell Blaise about the Hog's Head.

I looked over at the far side of the hall and saw that Potter, Weasley and Granger were surrounded by their fellow Gryffindors—most of whom I'd seen entering the Hog's Head on Saturday. They were speaking in frantic voices, and Granger kept glancing up at the teacher's table. I watched as Hannah and Macmillan rose from the Hufflepuff table and started walking across the Great Hall in the direction of Potter. I almost wanted to call out to Hannah and tell her that going to the Gryffindor table would alert Umbridge to the organization. However, I kept my mouth shut and watched as Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot started heading that way as well.

Lucky for them, Granger noticed the other students making their way to the Gryffindor table, and she started to warn them away. Ginny Weasley bounded across the Great Hall to give Corner a quick kiss and tell him and his friends to sit back down.

My suspicions of Potter being involved with the Hog's Head meeting were definitely confirmed—which meant that telling Blaise about the incident would put me out a sickle. Still, this had nothing to do with me being a side character and this school being Pottercentric; this had to do with a movement against Umbridge, a movement from which we Slytherins were being deliberately excluded.

However, I didn't find a moment alone with Blaise during breakfast, and McGonagall watched us students like a hawk throughout Transfiguration class. It wasn't until we were making our way down to the dungeons for double potions with the Gryffindors that I managed to separate Blaise from Draco, Pansy, and the others.

"What's going on?" asked Blaise in a low voice as the other students got further and further ahead of us. "You've been fidgeting all morning."

"I owe you a sickle," I said.

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Education Decree Number Twenty-Four exists because Potter's forming a student organization against Umbridge."

Blaise stared at me for a moment and then let out a long sigh. "That theory is worth three sickles, Daph. What happened to ignoring Potter?"

"Well," I said. "I would ignore Potter except Sue, Stephen, and I saw a bunch of Hogwarts students going into the Hog's Head on Saturday." I explained to Blaise what we'd seen and what had happened this morning, and I watched as understanding dawned on his face. Then, his expression darkened and a scowl tugged at his lips.

"I know they don't trust Slytherins," said Blaise. "Our reputation precedes us, but do they think we like Umbridge or something? We want to get rid of her just as much as they do."

I opened my mouth to respond, but we had just reached Snape's classroom and Draco's snide voice filled the hallway, forcing the gathered Gryffindor and Slytherin students to listen to him.

"Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway. I went to ask her first thing this morning," said Draco loudly. "Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well; he's always popping in and out of the Ministry… It'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor will be allowed to keep playing, won't it?"

I couldn't see Draco over the heads of the other students, so I just glared in his general direction.

"It wouldn't kill him to shut up for ten minutes," muttered Blaise.

"No one gives a hippogriff shite about his father," I added.

"I mean," said Malfoy, his voice getting even louder, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance. From what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years."

Standing a little ways down from Blaise and me was the Golden Trio. Weasley's freckled face was contorted with rage, and it seemed as though Granger was holding Potter back with a hand on the sleeve of his robes.

"And as for Potter," said Draco, "my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's. Apparently, they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic—"

Of all the things that could have happened next, I would never have predicted it. Neville Longbottom—the pitiful Gryffindor boy who had a toad for a pet and had spent the last four years being bullied by Crabbe and Goyle—threw himself through the crowd of students and started hitting and punching and kicking and biting Draco.

Someone screamed, "Neville, _no_!"

Potter lunged forward and tried to drag Longbottom away. Personally, I was urging Longbottom on, hoping he would do some serious damage to Draco, maybe break something important.

Crabbe and Goyle moved forward, preparing to deal with Longbottom, but Nott dropped his shoulder-bag and stepped in front of Crabbe and Goyle, bending down to pick up his fallen books. Crabbe and Goyle stopped in their tracks to avoid colliding with Nott, which gave Potter and Weasley just enough time to pull Longbottom away from Draco.

Longbottom's face was bright red, and his bottom lip was bleeding a little. Spluttering, Longbottom said something along the lines of "Not funny…Mungo's…show him…"

My heart twisted uncomfortably. Some time in our third year, Nott had told us about Longbottom's family. The Lestranges, Death Eaters and friends of Nott's father, had tortured Longbottom's auror parents to insanity, and they now lived in a ward of St. Mungo's, not even recognizing their own son when he came to visit. And if Nott knew all that, then I had no doubt that Draco—whose father told him everything—knew as well.

Form behind us, there came the cold, sneering voice of Snape. "Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom? Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention." He turned his dark eyes on the rest of us. "Inside, all of you."

The Slytherin and Gryffindor students made their way into the classroom. I made sure to "accidentally" step on Draco's foot when I walked by. Blaise rolled his eyes at me but didn't say anything as we settled into our seats and set up our workstation.

"Draco is and always will be a ferret," I muttered under my breath.

Blaise nodded, but his eyes were focused on something in the far, dimly lit corner of the dungeon.

Snape closed the door behind him and made his way to the front of the classroom. "You will notice," he said, "that we have a guest with us today."

With this, I finally saw who Blaise had been looking at. Umbridge was seated in the corner, clipboard on her knee a cardigan as pink as ever, watching with narrowed eyes as Snape paced about the front of the classroom.

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solutions today," said Snape, "you will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend—instructions on the board. Carry on."

The first part of the lesson went on as usual. Blaise muttered instructions to me while I tried desperately not to screw up. My potion, thankfully, was reasonably close to the color the textbook indicated.

Towards the end of class, Umbridge rose from her stool and made her way to the front of the classroom where Snape was flipping through the potions book.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," said Umbridge briskly. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus." I wondered if Umbridge also believed that Dumbledore was forming a student army to march on the Ministry.

Snape stared at her coldly.

"Now, how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" asked Umbridge, quill poised over clipboard.

"Fourteen years," said Snape stiffly.

I wasn't always Snape's biggest fan; I didn't like his teaching methods or his treatment of the other houses. But Snape looked after us Slytherins when other teachers did not, and I certainly liked him better than Umbridge. I willed Snape to show her exactly who was the most frightening professor in this school and why.

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" asked Umbridge.

"Yes." Snape's voice was low and deadly.

"But you were unsuccessful?"

Snape's lip curled. "Obviously."

After scribbling something else on her clipboard, Umbridge asked, "And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

Snape was white with rage. "Yes."

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge, continuing along the same stupid line of questioning.

"I suggest you ask him," said Snape.

Umbridge gave him her sweetest smile and said, "Oh, I shall."

And then she walked away to ask Pansy about the class. Disappointment curled in my stomach. I had expected greater things from Snape, more sarcasm and disdain. Instead, Umbridge had succeeded in pissing off Snape. It made me miss not-Mad-Eye Moody; he wouldn't turned Umbridge into a toad for looking at him wrong.

Eventually, Umbridge moved to Blaise and me. With a wide smile, she asked, "And what do you two think of this class?"

"It's challenging," said Blaise, while I glowered at Umbridge, "but we learn a lot."

"And do you do well in this class?" asked Umbridge.

"Some of us," said Blaise.

Umbridge glanced at me and made a soft tut-tutting sound in the back of her throat. I longed to pull my homework out of my bag and shove my "Exceeds Expectations" in her face. However, before I could do that, she turned away from us and headed across the room to talk to Draco. Blaise waited until she was out of earshot before hissing, "Are you stupid? Stop glaring."

"I hate her," I said.

"We all do," said Blaise. "But don't let her know that."

"We're not all good at acting like you are," I muttered, stirring my cauldron clockwise.

"The instructions say counter-clockwise." Blaise wrenched the stirring spoon out of my hands.

I sighed and leaned back on my stool. "What would I do without you, Zabini?"

"Fail Potions."

* * *

I dropped my bag onto the Charms desk with a heavy thud. "Hannah Abbott, we need to talk."

Hannah stared up at me with wide, brown eyes. "About what?"

Slowly, I lowered myself into my seat. Glaring at her with all my might, I said, "Why did you join a secret society without telling me?"

At first, she looked puzzled. Then, the blood slowly drained from her face. She gulped and looked down at the cover of her Charms textbook. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I scoffed. However, she looked as though she might faint at any second, so I tried to tone down the anger and said, as kindly as possible, "Hannah, you could never be a master criminal."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stubbornly.

When I'd imagined confronting Hannah in class, I'd planned on keeping the conversation teasing, but her denial caused my stomach to twist. She was treating this like a dead serious matter. But I couldn't just put aside my annoyance either, and I ended reaching for some sort of middle ground. I pulled my Charms textbook out of the bag and dropped it onto the desk with a dull thud. "It's 'cause I'm a Slytherin, isn't it?"

Hannah blinked and finally made eye contact with me. "What?"

"I saw you entering the Hog's Head," I explained. "Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws all went inside, but no Slytherins." I made sure to add an extra dose of affrontedness to my tone. "I get it, I get it. I'm a terrible, elitist, racist Slytherin who's destined to be an evil henchwoman of the Dark Lord—I don't get invited to the secret meetings."

Hannah opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find the right words. "No… No, no. Daph, you're not like the other Slytherins."

I scowled at her. "'The other Slytherins'? You mean my friends?"

"I mean like Draco Malfoy," said Hannah hurriedly, "and Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy Parkinson."

"Pansy is my friend."

"And you insult her all the time," said Hannah. "You know what she's like to people who aren't Slytherins. You know how she treats Neville and Hermione—"

"Stop." I couldn't argue with Hannah's words. I knew Pansy. I knew she'd tormented Hermione Granger on numerous occasions. Hannah had once told me she'd stumbled across Granger crying in the girls' bathroom because Pansy had teased her about her buck teeth. And I knew that after Nott had told us the story about Longbottom's parents, Pansy had made several snide comments about St. Mungo's to Longbottom. And I knew that Pansy had called Hannah a blood traitor on more than one occasion. I wasn't blind or stupid, but I'd had a lot of good times over the years with Pansy and I at least wanted to believe that she wasn't wholly irredeemable.

"Sorry," said Hannah, staring down at the wooden surface of the desk. "I know she's your friend."

I sighed. "You're not wrong."

"And, uh…" Hannah managed a weak smile for me. "I'm not in a secret society. And if I were, I couldn't tell you about it because it's not my secret to tell." Hannah chose her words very carefully. "But if I were the head of a secret society, you would be one of the first people I'd invite to join."

I stared at Hannah for a moment, trying to sift through all her carefully selected words. Then, a wide smile spread across my face and I said, "Thanks. I'd invite you too. We'd be the secret society of people who put library books back on the wrong shelves."

Hannah gasped. "It was one time. And it was two years ago!"

"You're so evil." I shook my head and tried to look sad. "Imagine how many days it took for Madam Pince to find that book…scourging the shelves to the point of exhaustion…maybe she thought she was losing her mind, because she was sure she put it back in the right place. She probably had an existential crisis because of you."

Hannah placed hand over her mouth. "Oh, don't joke about that. Now I feel bad. Maybe we should go to the library after class and see if she's found the book yet."

"Sometimes I can't believe someone as nice as you exists," I said. My eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you're human?"

"Daphne."

"Just checking." I shrugged.

Our conversation came to an end as Flitwick tapped the end of his wand on his desk to let us know that class had started. He spent most of the period lecturing us on the theory behind mending charms. By the end of class, Hannah was putting broken dishes back together with a flick of her wand, while I kept breaking them further. At least I was better off than Tracey, who had somehow managed to knockout Susan Bones with a flying Charms textbook.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, Hannah and I went our separate ways. Hannah went to the Hospital Wing with her fellow Hufflepuffs to see how Bones was doing, and I made my way down to the Great Hall for dinner with the rest of the fifth-year Slytherins. As we walked, Draco and Pansy laughed loudly about the expression on Bones's face when Tracey's textbook had hit her. Tracey was red with embarrassment, muttering under her breath that it'd been an accident and she'd been aiming for the broken teacup.

"She'll be fine," I said before sending a glare in Draco's direction. "Madam Pomfrey can fix concussions in a heartbeat."

"Still," said Tracey, "you should have seen the murderous looks Macmillan and Finch-Fletchley were giving me."

"Well, you definitely didn't improve our Slytherin reputation," said Blaise as we entered the Great Hall.

"If Draco and Pansy hadn't laughed, you could have explained it was an accident," added Nott. "It wasn't your fault."

Tracey fiddled with the strap of her shoulder bag. "Smith was yelling at me."

"Zacharias Smith is a tool," I said. "And Hannah knows it was an accident. She'll explain."

Tracey sighed. "You're right. But still, I'd rather get through one year of school where the other houses didn't hate us."

"Not going to happen." I slid into my regular seat at the end of the Slytherin table. "We might as well embrace our reputations and be bad to the bone." I quoted a muggle song Tracey had once played for me.

Blaise, Tracey, and Nott sat with me, while Pansy followed Draco and his friends to the middle of the table. Apparently, Pansy thought she was too good to sit with us today.

"You couldn't be bad to the bone if you tried," said Blaise.

"Sure I could." I watched as food materialized on the plates in front of us. Since Pansy wasn't with us, I helped myself to the mashed potatoes. "All I have to do is dress in black and talk about pureblood superiority. You know, the Dark Lord will come to power again and all that kill the mudbloods stuff."

A Hufflepuff third year, who just so happened to be walking by the Slytherin table, glanced at me. When we made eye contact, a look a sheer terror crossed her face, and she raced across the hall to get as far away from me as possible.

"Now who's adding to our Slytherin reputation?" asked Blaise.

"That," I said grimly, "was an unfortunate accident." I briefly wondered if I should go after the third year to explain jokes and the negative consequences of believing the Slytherin reputation. However, I almost never explained my theory on the Slytherin reputation to people outside of my friend group, so I remained seated.

"Did you hear what happened in Divination today?" asked Tracey.

Nott didn't even look up from his plate. "Umbridge."

Tracey nodded. "She put Trelawney on probation."

I paused, fork halfway to my mouth, and asked, "What?"

"Trelawney spent half the class rambling about what a horrible, close-minded person 'that woman' was and about how Seers have been persecuted throughout history by non-believers."

Blaise shook his head. "Has Trelawney made one true prediction since you've taken her class?"

"Well," said Tracey thoughtfully, "third year, she predicted 'one of our number would leave us forever' and Granger did quit the class for good. But I don't know how much of that was foresight and how much was luck."

"She must be a true Seer if Dumbledore hired her," I said.

Nott nodded. "Dumbledore may be many things, but a crackpot old fool he is not—despite what the _Daily Prophet_ says."

"I thought newspapers were supposed to be more reliable," muttered Tracey.

"Even if they try to be neutral, newspapers are just another form of propaganda," I said through a mouthful of potatoes. "They're about as reliable as my spellwork."

Tracey shuddered. "Why do we read the paper again?"

"It's good to be informed," said Blaise. "Don't you want to know what the Ministry is telling the masses?"

"I'd rather the Ministry tell the masses the truth," said Tracey.

"There you go," I said. "Career option for you. We have those career planning survey things come April, right?"

Tracey groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Don't remind me."

"My family has begun sending me letters," said Nott gloomily. "They all want me to work for the Ministry. And then there are the subtle hints that there will always be a position among the Death Eaters for me."

Tracey glanced up from her hands and grimaced. "Yeah, my issues can't really rival that."

"I already know what I want to do," said Blaise.

"What?" asked Tracey.

I listened as Blaise explained his plans for his late stepfather's company, which currently produced Quidditch supplies. I'd heard Blaise's future career stories many times during our late-night spell practices. Before his death, Number Three had talked about bringing the wizarding world up to modern times, and Blaise wanted to make this a reality. Blaise could spend hours talking about muggle inventions—cellphones, televisions, cars, and ballpoint pens—being enhanced by magic. He'd been very impressed second year by Weasley's flying car (not that he would ever tell Weasley that).

"Well, some people have it all figured out," muttered Tracey when Blaise had finished. She glanced at me and asked, "What about you? You're lost and confused like me, aren't you?"

"Actually," I said, "I want to be an arithmancer. There's a lot you can do with numbers and magic that hasn't been explored yet—"

"Merlin's knickers, Daph!" cried Tracey. "You're supposed to be as aimless as I am."

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry for having direction."

"Nott doesn't have direction," Blaise told Tracey. "You two can bond together."

"Actually," said Nott, "I want to be an auror."

Unfortunately, I had just taken a huge sip of water and I spat it out all over my plate. Coughing and choking, I managed to ask, "What?"

"That's gross, Daph," said Tracey.

Nott hesitated. Right then, the dishes in front of us disappeared and were replaced by dessert. Nott's explanation was put on hold as he slid a slice of apple pie on his plate. Then, before taking a bite, he said, "I haven't exactly told my family that yet."

"I can see why," I said. "Why do you want to be an auror anyway?"

"Well," said Nott, "oddly, I started considering it when Mad-Eye Moody was our professor last year."

Tracey frowned. "You mean the Death-Eater-in-disguise Mad-Eye Moody?"

"Yeah, that's why I said 'oddly'." Nott took a bite of pie before continuing. "But his classes were interesting, and I thought aurors like him were doing the right thing. And then when I found out that Barty Crouch Jr. was actually Mad-Eye Moody, and he had helped bring the Dark Lord back and kill Cedric Diggory, I thought, 'I want to stop people like that'. Diggory was an all right bloke. He didn't deserve what happened to him and his death shouldn't be treated as an accident. The criminal should be held responsible." Nott hesitated. "Except, well, I can hardly apply to be an auror when my dad's a Death Eater. Or, at least, I can't be the kind of auror I want to be."

Tracey had one arm propped up on the table, and her chin rested on the top of her palm. She had a sad little smile as she stared across the table at Nott. "Parents can be fucked up."

I nodded in agreement.

"Truer words have never been spoken," said Blaise.

I held up my water goblet in a mock toast, and Blaise bumped his drink against mine. Nott and Tracey did the same.

"To our future," said Tracey. "May we decide what we're doing with our lives—"

"And not become our parents," said Blaise.

"And not become the evil henchmen everyone assumes we'll be," I added.

We all took long sips of our drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think about the meeting in Hog's Head? What would you do if you were in Daphne's position? 
> 
> Please leave a comment!


	7. The Quidditch Match Became A Musical

**Chapter Seven: The Quidditch Match Became A Musical**

As October reached its end, the first Quidditch match of the season drew closer. Since the Quidditch season had been cancelled last year due to the Triwizard Tournament taking place, special attention was being paid to the opening match, Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

Tensions between the houses were at a high. Gryffindor and Slytherin students passed insults in the hallways, while Snape and McGonagall not-so-subtly showed favoritism to their house players. Several Slytherins—Montague in particular—had been accused of trying to hex Gryffindor players. I had actually witnessed Miles Bletchley hit Alicia Spinnet with a Hair-Thickening spell from behind, sending Spinnet to the Hospital Wing with abnormally bushy eyebrows. When this incident was brought to Snape's attention, he insisted that Spinnet had tried the charm on herself for some strange reason. Sometimes, I really hated Snape.

Once, on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Pansy caught sight of Potter and sneered, "Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday."

I rolled my eyes, and Tracey tried to drag Pansy away before she scratched someone's eyes out.

Potter gave Pansy a scathing look and said, "Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me."

The smirk disappeared from Pansy's face, and I found myself impressed (not for the first time) with Potter's sass abilities.

The person I felt the most pity for was Ron Weasley, the new Gryffindor keeper. I overhead Montague ask, "Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" in the corridor between classes. And instead of giving a clever retort, Weasley just turned green. Draco had also perfected his impersonation of Weasley dropping the Quaffle and would show the act to anyone who would watch. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent, and Georgina would all laugh loudly whenever Weasley came near them. And if poor Weasley was upset by our house antics now, he had no way to cope with what was in store for him come game day.

"Weasley's going to crumble on Saturday," said Pansy, practically jumping around with excitement.

Tracey sighed. "Our reputation's going to get even worse after this, isn't it?"

"We're just getting into the spirit of the game," said Pansy who didn't care about the Slytherin reputation in the slightest.

I yawned and leaned against the staircase railing. The five of us had a break before Defense Against the Dark Darts class, and rather than return to the Slytherin dungeons or visit the crowded library, we had ended up hanging around the moving staircases.

"So how many people do you think have died on these staircases?" I asked, watching as the stairs above us, which used to lead to the fifth floor, shifted to the sixth floor.

"They don't move while you're on them," said Nott.

I tipped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. The hall was ten stories high with stone staircases connecting the floors. Looking up from the third floor, it looked like a mosaic pattern, the staircases crisscrossing and moving as they pleased.

"I'm sure there are spells to stop people from falling to their deaths," I said. "It'd give Hogwarts a bad rep if they had to report the number of student deaths by staircases every year."

"No one dies from the staircases," said Blaise, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Maybe they cover it up," I mused.

At this point, Blaise decided to ignore me. He turned to Nott and started a conversation about the muggleborn students who dressed up for Halloween. He'd seen Hufflepuff's Sophie Roper dressed like a fairy and Ravenclaw's Lisa Turpin dressed like some kind of furry animal walking around together.

"Oh, Daphne." Tracey pulled me to the edge of the staircase so I could look down. "It's Number Five."

Several sixth year Hufflepuff boys were hanging out on the second-floor staircase; among them was a blond-haired boy with a charming smile—Jacob Stebbins, Number Five on our Hogwarts' Fittest Boys List.

"Stebbins?" Pansy moved to the handrail to look down with me. "Well, he's not Draco, but even I have to admit those locks of his are _fine_."

I snorted. "Did you really just say 'locks'?"

"He has a girlfriend, doesn't he?" asked Nott. "Fawcett or whatever her name is."

"Yeah," said Tracey. "But Pansy and Daphne have decided that girlfriends play no role in the Top Ten List. Cedric Diggory dated Cho Chang last year, and he was still Number One."

Blaise gave me a knowing look. It was no secret that I had fancied Diggory.

I folded my arms over my chest and said, "Brains don't matter either. Roger Davies is currently Number One, and we all know he has pixie shit for a brain."

"Personality doesn't matter either," said Pansy, "since Cormac McLaggen is Number Four."

Tracey and I exchanged glances. We decided not to mention that Draco, placed at Number Three, was a true example of how much personality didn't matter.

Blaise sighed and moved to lean against the handrail next to me. "If you lot get to make a Top Ten Boys List, do we get to make a Top Ten Girls List?"

Pansy scoffed. "Of course not. That would be the objectification of women, and as a civil society, we are above such matters."

Pansy glanced at me and then at Tracey. Her lips twitched as she tried to hold back a smile at the pure hypocrisy of that statement. Then, all three of us were laughing, while Nott and Blaise resisted the urge to push us off the moving staircase and see if there were really protection charms to stop us from dying.

Our laughter was cut short when a group of the Slytherin Quidditch players started making their way down the staircase. Miles Bletchley and Adrian Pucey were laughing loudly at some joke Cassius Warrington had made, while Graham Montague ran his fingers through his dark hair and threw a smile in Pansy's direction.

Pansy, in true Pansy fashion, pretended to check her hair for split ends as Montague approached her.

"Are you excited for the match Saturday?" he asked.

"Of course," said Pansy, "Draco's playing."

Montague turned pink about the ears. "Yeah, well, hopefully he can catch the Snitch."

"True," I said. "He has a less than stellar track record."

Adrian (Number Nine on the List) grinned at me. I was momentarily stunned by his dimples, but I shook the thought away.

"Draco can handle Potter," Pansy was saying.

"Not without cheating," I muttered under my breath.

Blaise elbowed me in the side.

"You coming to the game, Daphne?" asked Adrian.

"If I don't, Pansy will throw a fit," I said grimly.

"Besides," said Blaise, "Daph has to help with 'Weasley is our King'. Her singing voice is to die for."

"Really?" Adrian glanced at me in surprise.

I glared at Blaise. He and I both knew I couldn't carry a tune to save my life. None of my family could. During birthday celebrations, Astoria and I have to cover our ears so we don't hear our mother's squeaky, off-key voice.

"I heard Alicia Spinnet got let out of the Hospital Wing," said Nott in a low voice.

If Nott had been glaring at me like that, I'd have been running in the opposite direction as fast as my short legs could carry me, but Miles Bletchley just shrugged and said, "Stupid girl practiced a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself."

My eyes narrowed. Our Quidditch team was doing nothing to endear Slytherin to the other houses.

Miles looked Nott up and down as Nott glared back at him. No one with a brain would openly pick a fight with Nott; his dad was in the Dark Lord's inner circle after all. Instead, Miles glanced at Tracey at smirked. He didn't have to say anything for us to know what sort of rude comment he was thinking. It was common knowledge among Slytherins that Tracey's mum was muggleborn ever since third year when Georgina Runcorn had publicly told Tracey that she might as well be a muggle. While most people didn't care one way or another, some Slytherins said cruel things to Tracey and treated her as if she had the plague.

"Good luck tomorrow," I said loudly, cutting across any remark Miles might make. "Break a wand or whatever the saying is."

"Thanks," said Adrian. "I'll see you in the stands."

Montague smiled at Pansy before leading his friends away. Blaise, Nott, and I watched them go, glaring at their backs.

"Miles is a prick," I said.

Nott nodded in agreement.

"They all are," said Tracey, folding her arms over her chest.

"Adrian's not bad," I pointed out.

"He hangs out with them though," said Tracey. "No decent human being would voluntarily spend time with Miles Bletchley."

Well, I couldn't argue with that. Still, Tracey's words wouldn't stop me from thinking Adrian Pucey was fit and someone I wouldn't mind being friends with.

* * *

The first Saturday of November brought with it the cold. We grabbed our fur coats, gloves, and scarves before making our way up to the Great Hall for the pre-Quidditch breakfast. Before we left the common room, Pansy made sure we all had our silver badges, which read "Weasley is our King" in flashing letters. She had spent the last couple days making sure that everyone in the house knew about "Weasley is our King"; there was no way she was going to let her closest friends go without participating.

As we entered the green, silver, red, and gold Great Hall, I glared down at the obnoxious, crown-shaped badge on my chest. Maybe I could take it off when Pansy's back was turned…

"Don't even think about it," said Pansy when I moved to unhook the pin. "Don't forget, I'm a prefect and I have the power to put you in detention."

Glaring at her, I lowered my hands and let the badge stay in place. Blaise and Nott sat on either side of me at the Slytherin table while Tracey sat across. Pansy was still trying to organize all the underclassmen and didn't have time for breakfast.

"Her loss," said Tracey, buttering herself a piece of toast when Pansy wasn't looking.

"If only she could put this energy into more productive and positive things," I said with a sigh. "She could probably reform the entire wizarding world."

"Instead," said Tracey, "she's determined to chase after Draco Malfoy."

I shook my head. "Such a shame."

"Weasley looks rather pale," said Nott, glancing over at the red-haired, freckled boy sitting at the Gryffindor table. "I don't think he's noticed the badges yet though."

"If he's pale now," I said, "he's going to faint when he hears the song."

We heard a squeal behind us and turned to see Pansy clinging to Draco's arm. It looked as if she was bragging about the badges she'd made, but it was hard to be sure. Draco smiled at her and said something in his usual arrogant manner. Pansy released his arm and gave him an adoring smile before Draco followed the rest of his teammates out of the Great Hall. The Gryffindor Quidditch team departed not long after.

"I guess Weasley didn't see," said Pansy, gloomily taking a seat next to Tracey.

"He will," I muttered.

"But will it affect him?" asked Pansy. "Do you think he'll cry?"

"Your viciousness impresses me," said Blaise.

Pansy tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and said, "It's called tactics. You should try learning it some time."

"Blaise knows tactics," I said, stealing a piece of bacon from Blaise's plate. "His tactic is to pretend he's better than everyone else."

"I don't have to pretend." Blaise snatched the bacon out of my hands before I could take a bite.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Don't forget your diet," said Blaise.

Pansy, who had been too preoccupied with her tea, looked up and spotted the piece of bacon. "Daphne! It's one thing to eat carbs, but greasy, fattening bacon is definite no. Do you want to get fat?"

"I'm a perfectly healthy weight," I muttered as Tracey hid her buttered toast under the table.

I shot Blaise a murderous glare. He grinned, and when Pansy's back was turned, he gave me two pieces of bacon.

After breakfast, we made our way down the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the student body. The grass was tipped with morning frost, and a bitter wind swept across the grounds. I wrapped my fur cloak around me and buried my nose in my green and silver scarf. Tracey and Nott walked on their side of me, their cheeks bright red. Blaise had forgotten his scarf, but he was too proud to admit that he was cold, so he battled the wind in silence.

"I hope Draco dresses warmly enough," said Pansy, fiddling with her rolled up "Weasley is our King" banner.

"I honestly don't care," I said.

Nott nodded in agreement.

The stands were packed, as they usually were for the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor supporters sat on the far side of the pitch and Slytherin supporters sat in the stands nearest to the castle. Most Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students and chosen to sit in the Gryffindor section. I spotted Stephen and Sue sitting in the front row of the Slytherin stands, however, and I made my way down the steps to talk to them.

"You chose us over those Gryffindors?" I asked, clutching a hand to my chest. "I'm touched."

"Of course," said Stephen, "I'd never cheer for those Gryffin-bores."

He laughed, while Sue and I stared at him in disgust. His jokes still hadn't improved from when we were eleven.

"Daphne!" cried Pansy, storming down the steps and grabbing me roughly by the arm. "You're sitting with us today."

Sue gave Pansy a strained smile. "Hello."

"Hi," said Pansy. She glanced at Sue and Stephen's fur robes and asked, "Where's your 'Weasley is our King' badges?"

"Oh," said Sue, glancing around the stands. "Is that what those things say?"

"It's a cheering tactic," I said. "We're being strategic fans."

Pansy pretended not to hear the sarcasm in my voice as she handed Sue and Stephen crown-shaped badges. She spotted some Slytherin fourth-years and shouted, "You there! I'm a prefect!"

The fourth year boys scurried over at Pansy's command. One of them blushed when he made direct eye contact with Pansy. I fought back a sigh; Pansy was too pretty for her own good.

"Teach these two the song," said Pansy, pointing at Sue and Stephen.

The boys nodded mutely.

Pansy smiled at Sue and Stephen. "I would love to chat, but I need to take Daphne away. If I let her out of my sight for too long, she's going to take off the badge."

I pulled a face and waved goodbye to my friends as Pansy dragged me along the bleachers to where Tracey, Blaise, Nott, Millicent, and Georgina were figuring out how to set up the "Weasley is our King" banner. Well, I should say that Georgina and Tracey were figuring out how to put up the banner. Blaise was sitting down on the bleachers, occasionally calling out advice for the two girls, and Millicent was trying to strike up a conversation with Nott, who was determinedly ignoring her by pretending to adjust his silver badge.

"No!" cried Pansy, sprinting up the steps to where Tracey and Georgina were wrapped up in the cotton banner. "Don't you know how to do a Sticking Charm? Can't you do anything without me?"

I moved along the seats to sit down next to Blaise. "You ready for this?"

Blaise gave me a scathing look.

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

"Why does Millicent insist on talking to me?" asked Nott, who had finally managed to escape when Pansy called Millicent over to help with the banner.

"She thinks you're 'dark and mysterious'," I explained.

"I'm really not," said Nott.

I grinned. "All the brooding you do gives girls the wrong impression. They think you're 'cool'."

"This is what you get for preferring to read by yourself rather than coming to Hogsmeade with us," said Blaise.

"That happened one time," grumbled Nott.

"Three times," said Blaise. "And one of those times, Pansy made me stalk Draco with her."

Nott shrugged. "You could have stayed in the common room too."

"Here they are!" squealed Pansy, sprinting down the bleachers to sit beside Nott.

Sure enough, down on the pitch, seven players dressed in green robes stepped out of the Slytherin locker room onto the grass. On the other side of the field, seven scarlet-clad players did the same. I glanced over my shoulder to see the flickering green and silver banner. At the moment, the colors were a faded shade of green, so that only people close by could read the words "Weasley is our King". The moment the Quaffle went near Ron Weasley, however, the words would be flashing silver and the Slytherin stands would burst into song.

"Weasley looks like he's about to be sick," said Tracey. She had Pansy's omnioculars held up to her eyes as she surveyed the pitch.

Johnson and Montague shook hands and then stepped back into formation. On Madam Hooch's order, the two teams mounted their brooms and kicked off from the ground. Tracey handed back Pansy's onmioculars as the fourteen players raced around the pitch.

Lee Jordan's voice filled the stadium as he started his commentary of the game. "And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me—"

"Jordan!" yelled McGonagall.

"I love Jordan's commentary," said Tracey with a laugh.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest—and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's—ouch—been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe…"

"They should get someone else to commentate the Gryffindor games though," I said. "Jordan's biased."

"But that's what makes it funny," said Tracey. "Don't you want to listen to him insult Draco?"

Well, I couldn't argue with that. It was also fun to hear Draco complain about Jordan's commentary after the match.

Jordan's voice filled the stadium, interrupting my thoughts. "Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch—"

As Montague approached the three golden hoops at the Gryffindor end of the pitch, Pansy jumped to her feet and cried, "Weasley cannot save a thing!"

Millicent, Georgina, and Tracey took up the chant immediately. "He cannot block a single ring."

The third year girls in front of us joined in along with the seventh years to our right. "That's why the Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King!"

"Nice Bludger there from George Weasley," cried Lee Jordan, not noticing as the song spread through the Slytherin section of the stands. "That's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away—"

"Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King"

The off-key singing of the Slytherin fans filled my ears so that I could barely hear Lee Jordan's commentary.

"—dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger—close call, Alicia—and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?" He paused to listen.

"Weasley cannot save a thing,

He cannot block a single ring,

That's why Slytherins all sing:

Weasley is our King.

Weasley was born in a bin,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley will make sure we win,

Weasley is our King."

"—and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" yelled Jordan, trying to drown out our song. "Come on now, Angelina—looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat—she shoots—she—"

As much as I disliked Miles Bletchley, he was an excellent Keeper. He blocked Johnson's shot no problem and tossed the Quaffle to Cassius Warrington. Cassius darted between Gryffinor's two other chasers, Spinnet and Bell, towards the three goalposts on the other end of the field. The noise around me increased in volume.

"Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King"

"Daphne!" cried Pansy, grabbing me by the wrist. "You're not singing!"

"—and it's Warrington with the Quaffle," cried Jordan. "Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the keeper ahead—"

I kept my mouth shut as Pansy screamed into my ear, "Weasley cannot save a thing!"

"—so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of beaters, Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team—come on, Ron!"

Cassius hurled the Quaffle into the central hoop and a great roar rose up around me. I managed some weak applause. A part of me still felt guilty about the song; this was Weasley's first game after all.

The score was now ten-nil with Gryffindor's Katie Bell taking the Quaffle up the pitch. Jordan was having trouble commentating over the roar of the Slytherin stands' song. I couldn't even hear him anymore. Montague had managed to get ahold of the Quaffle and was racing up pitch towards the Gryfindor goalposts. In her excitement, Pansy raced down to the front of the stands and started conducting the Slytherin fans in the song. Montague passed to Adrian, who feinted to the left and then tossed the Quaffle into the right hoop.

The Slytherin fans screamed in excitement. Millicent almost broke my eardrums.

"Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King"

Alicia Spinnet had the Quaffle but dropped it when she was shouldered in the jaw by Cassius Warrington. Montague caught the Quaffle and raced towards the Gryffindor goalposts.

"That's dirty cheating!" cried Jordan into his microphone. "Should've expected nothing less from a Slytherin!"

"Jordan," snapped McGonagall, her voice sharp with warning.

As Montague neared Ron Weasley and the Gryffindor goalposts, I felt a wave of anger in my chest. _Should've expecting nothing less from a Slytherin_. What did Lee Jordan know about Slytherin house? Just because the Dark Lord was a Slytherin didn't mean we were all horrible people. Just because some Slytherins were pureblood elitists, didn't mean we all were. Just because Cassius played Quidditch rough, didn't mean all Slytherin cheated in sports. But did Lee Jordan care about that? No. All Slytherins were evil in his eyes, and therefore he had the right to say whatever he wanted during a Quidditch match.

The words of the song surrounded me, rising higher and higher as Montague drew back his arm and threw the Quaffle. Weasley dove, but the Quaffle soared through his open arms through the center goalpost.

A great cheer rose from the Slytherin stands, and I found myself cheering with them.

"Weasley cannot save a thing,

He cannot block a single ring,

That's why Slytherins all sing:

Weasley is our King."

If Lee Jordan wanted me to be a bully, then I could be a bully. Maybe Ron Weasley didn't deserve to be the focus of our song, but we didn't deserve to be judged by our house.

Goyle hit a Bludger at Katie Bell, causing her to drop the Quaffle. Both Johnson and Adrian went for the ball, but Adrian got there first. He did a reverse pass to Montague, who sped down field. Fred/George Weasley sent a Bludger at Montague, but he passed the Quaffle to Cassius before dodging the wild ball. Cassius passed to Adrian, who tossed the ball into the far right hoop. Forty-nil.

"Weasley is our King!" screamed Tracey.

"Nice one, Adrian!" I shouted, waving my arms over my head.

Blaise gave me an odd look. He seemed as though he wanted to say something to me, but there was no way to be heard over the green and silver crowd.

Johnson finally got the Quaffle past Miles, making the score forty-ten.

"—Pucey throws to Warrington," cried Jordan. "Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey—Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good—I mean bad—Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again…"

"If you can't be impartial, don't commentate," I muttered.

No one heard me as the crowd let out a great cry. Potter was darting towards the ground with Draco on the tail of his broom.

"Come on, Draco!" screamed Pansy.

"It'd be embarrassing if we lost after all this," said Blaise.

The Snitch shifted positions, so that Draco had the better position. Potter wrenched his broom around so that he was neck and neck with Draco.

A hush had fallen over the Slytherin crowd. We all watched, breathless, as Draco and Potter reached for the Snitch.

Potter's hand closed around the golden ball.

"I knew it," said Tracey. "Draco's never beaten Potter."

"No!" cried Pansy. "No! He cheated! Potter cheated!"

"He didn't cheat," said Blaise. "Potter's just the better seeker."

Tracey let out little squeak, and I turned to the pitch in time to see a Bludger slam into Potter's back. Potter flew forward off his broom. However, he was only a couple meters off the ground, and he landed safely on the frostbitten grass.

As Madam Hooch's shrill whistle filled the stadium, I saw Crabbe flying in circle above Potter, bat resting on his shoulder and an ugly grimace on his face. The Gryffindor section was shouting and jeering, while many of the Slytherins were booing Potter's catch.

Draco landed on the pitch not far from Potter. I think Draco was saying something, but from the bleachers I had no idea what.

The rest of the Gryffindor team landed beside Potter to congratulate him. But Draco— _stupid_ Draco—just kept talking.

"What's he saying?" asked Tracey nervously.

"Probably insulting Potter," said Blaise. "Or Weasley. Or Gryffindor."

I saw Fred and George Weasley tense and said, "I think Weasley."

Potter grabbed hold of George Weasley, while the three Gryffindor chasers held back Fred. Madam Hooch was too busy scolding Crabbe about the Bludger attack to notice what was happening between the boys.

"Is Draco stupid?" asked Tracey. "Sure, we lost, but Gryffindor won fairly."

"I hope the Weasleys punch him in the face," I muttered.

All of a sudden, Potter had released George Weasley and the two of them were sprinting at Draco. There were no wands. Potter drew back his fist and whacked Draco in the stomach.

"Well," I said, "it's not the face, but that'll do."

"Draco!" screamed Pansy. "That bastard Potter!"

"Aim for the face, Potter!" I cried.

Thankfully, Pansy couldn't hear me over the roar of the stands; otherwise, she might have tried to hit _me_ in the face.

Madam Hooch had finally seen what was going on. With a wave of her wand, she separated the boys. Draco was lying on the ground, blood dripping from his nose, while George was holding a hand to his lip. Potter was gasping for breath, his face contorted with rage.

After the boys had been sent off the pitch, and undoubtedly to the Headmaster's Office, the stands erupted into conversation. The Slytherin stands seemed to be of two minds. Half of the students supported Draco, calling Potter a cheater and the Weasley twins violent. The other half seemed to think Draco was an obnoxious twat and wished that Potter and George Weasley had landed a few more punches.

"Draco," cried Pansy, her face stark white. "He was bleeding. Did you see the blood? Do you think he'll be all right?"

"He'll be fine," said Tracey, wrapping her arms around Pansy in a tight hug. "Madam Pomfrey can fix him in an instant."

"Besides," I said, "a few good punches will do him good. It builds character."

Tracey glared at me over Pansy's head. "Not helping," she mouthed at me.

"Daphne." Blaise lightly held my forearm and steered me down the steps towards the exit. Nott followed, leaving Tracey, Georgina, and Millicent to do the consoling.

"Sorry," I said as we joined the crowds leaving the stadium.

"Comforting isn't your thing," said Blaise.

There was no arguing with that.

Blaise glanced down at me and then asked, "So why did you start singing?"

I fought back a sigh. I should've known Blaise was going to ask me that. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Nott was deliberately looking away from us, trying not to eavesdrop. I honestly didn't care if Nott overheard. The only time Blaise and I were ever secretive was when we were discussing our parents.

"Lee Jordan pissed me off," I said.

"Ah." Blaise nodded. "The Slytherin stereotype."

"Not all Slytherins are cheaters," I complained. "Just like not all Hufflepuffs are honest or all Ravenclaws wise. Don't lump us all together like that."

"So to prove him wrong," said Blaise, "you perpetuated the Slytherin stereotype by singing 'Weasley is our King'."

I opened my mouth to argue, to explain that the song was a strategic move, but then I said nothing. Blaise was right, of course. I'd been immature and stupid, and as much as I liked to joke about being a future Death Eater and upholding the Slytherin reputation with my friends, I hated being lumped into the Slytherin stereotype by the other houses.

We stepped out from the stadium onto the dirt path leading up to the castle. Rather than head back, we decided to wait for Tracey and Pansy. As the chilly air nipped our exposed skin, Blaise, Nott, and I leaned against the wooden wall of the Quidditch stadium and watched as the other students passed. A few of the Gryffindor students shouted insults at us, but the comments stopped when Nott drew his wand and carefully twirled the slender pine between his fingers. All it took was a calm, quiet look from Nott, and the comments died in their throats.

"Nott," I said, "sometimes you can be such a badass."

Nott shrugged. "It helps when your father's an alleged Death Eater."

"It goes with your dark and mysterious image," said Blaise. "No wonder Millicent fancies you."

I laughed and tilted my head to the side so that it rested on Blaise's shoulder.

Blaise glanced down at me, one eyebrow quirked questioningly.

"I'm tired," I said. "I should've stayed in bed rather than go to this stupid Quidditch game."

"We all should've," said Nott.

"That reminds me." Blaise held out his hand in front of me. "You told Potter to aim for Draco's face."

Sighing, I rummaged through the pocket of my fur cloak and found the sickle I'd started carrying around with me. I dropped the coin into Blaise's hand and muttered, "It was worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weasley is Our King really should have been banned after that first Quidditch match. 
> 
> Please leave a comment!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: No News is Good News**

With the power invested in her by Educational Decree Number Twenty-Five, High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge gave Harry Potter, George Weasley, and Fred Weasley lifelong bans from playing Quidditch. Draco, of course, received no punishment in the slightest.

When I walked into the Charms classroom Tuesday afternoon, I was greeted by Hannah's glare.

"Good day to you too," I muttered, sliding into the seat next to her.

"'Weasley is our King'?" whispered Hannah. "That's too mean. Especially for Ron's first match."

"Pansy's idea, not mine."

Hannah opened her mouth, probably about to say, "Of course, it was Pansy," but she thought better of it. Instead, she leaned back in her seat and sighed. "I like you, but sometimes the other people in your house can be terrible."

I'd been present at its creation and I'd sung a few verses at the match, but everyone in my house knew I wasn't the biggest fan of "Weasley is our King". However, even if I agreed with Hannah, I still scowled at the insult to the other Slytherins.

"You're one to talk," I muttered, "Macmillan once called me a future Death Eater, and I know Megan Jones thinks I'm 'the slut of Slytherin'."

Hannah paled. "How did you—"

"Tracey's friends with Tamsin Applebee," I said. "You'd be surprised how much I know about what's said in your common room."

"Tamsin?" repeated Hannah blankly. "Really?"

"They're both fans of the Falmouth Falcons," I said. "They go to games together over the summer."

For the most part, Slytherin students didn't have friends outside our common room. Some outgoing Slytherins, like me, had a handful of friends in other houses, and some less elitist Slytherins would date a Ravenclaw or even Hufflepuff now and again, but Tracey was a true rarity. I suppose her muggleborn mother made it so that she never fully belonged in Slytherin house, and as a result, she found it easier to befriend other students.

Hannah was still processing this new information as she said, "Well, Megan only called you a you-know-what once, and that was back in third year when she fancied Blaise Zabini."

I choked on air. "What? Jones fancied Blaise?"

"He _is_ rather good-looking," said Hannah. She caught sight of my repulsed expression and added, "Not my type though."

"You're not comparing Blaise to Longbottom, are you?" I asked suspiciously.

"There's nothing to compare," said Hannah. "They're two very different types of people."

"You can say that again," I muttered. "So, uh, does Jones still fancy Blaise?"

Hannah hid a smile behind her left hand.

"Just wondering," I said quickly before Hannah could get any funny ideas.

"She fancied him most of third year and part of fourth," said Hannah with a knowing look in my direction. "When she saw that you went to the Yule Ball together, she figured you were dating and gave up."

"Don't give me that look," I said, pointing at Hannah. "Blaise and I went together so we wouldn't be stag. There was about as much romance between Blaise and me as there was between Tracey and Nott—they danced together once before Tracey met some Durmstrang girl and ignored Nott the rest of the night."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "You always tell me to ask Neville to Hogsmeade. Why don't I get to pry in your love life too?"

"Because my love life is non-existent."

Hannah tactfully decided not to mention my unrequited love for Cedric Diggory. Instead, she said, "You'll tell me first when you fancy someone, won't you?" There was another glance in Blaise's direction.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered.

Our conversation came to an end as Flitwick began class. I half-heartedly listened as he explained the theory behind the Stunning Spell. Instead, I stared across the room at Megan Jones, a square-faced girl who still wore her hair in pigtails despite being fifteen-years-old.

I couldn't picture her liking Blaise. They were too different. Jones was a muggleborn girl who thought pigtails looked good, while Blaise was the heir to the Zabini fortune. Malfoy, Nott, Greengrass, and Parkinson were all wealthy, pureblooded families (part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as written in Cantankerus Nott's _Pure Blood Directory_ ) but over the years, through her various marriages, Ms. Zabini had amassed a fortune that far surpassed any of the pureblood families. In terms of his upbringing, Blaise was from another world. One that the rest of us couldn't even imagine.

Class ended without me setting anything on fire (which was a vast improvement on my part). I said goodbye to Hannah as she headed off to Care of Magical Creatures, and then I waited in the corridor for Blaise to come out of the classroom so we could walk to Arithmancy together.

"So have you fallen in love with me or what?" asked Blaise as he stepped through the doorway.

I squinted up at him, trying to decide if he was joking or not. "Uh, what?"

"You were staring at me during Flitwick's lecture."

"Oh, that." I shrugged. "Did you know Megan Jones used to fancy you?"

Blaise blinked. "Megan Jones? Really?"

"Yeah, third and fourth year. Apparently, she called me 'the slut of Slytherin' because she thought I fancied you too." I laughed at the thought.

"Megan Jones?" repeated Blaise blankly. "How am I her type?"

"It's the bad boy appeal," I said. "I suppose you're like Nott with your 'dark and mysterious' side."

Blaise scowled. "How am I 'dark and mysterious'?"

"You're right," I said. "That's more Nott's charm. I guess you're the classy bad boy type."

"That's a type?" asked Blaise incredulously.

"Some girls like it."

Blaise glanced down at me. "So what's your type then?"

I laughed aloud and elbowed Blaise in the side. "Are we really having this conversation?"

"You brought it up," said Blaise, pushing my elbow away before I could attack a second time.

"I was just talking about Megan Jones' type," I said. "That doesn't mean mine."

"Are you embarrassed to admit it?" asked Blaise, a devilish grin appearing on his handsome face. "Is 'classy bad boy' actually your type? I hate to say it, Daph, but you're not mine. I like—"

I stepped on his left foot, causing Blaise to hiss in pain. I moved back and, with arms folded over my chest, said, "It isn't. I like nice boys—like Cedric Diggory."

Not waiting for a response, I continued down the corridor towards the Arithmancy classroom. Blaise followed, pretending that the foot I stepped on didn't hurt in the slightest. I rolled my eyes and waited for him to catch up.

"Sorry," I said.

Blaise shrugged. "I've been through worse."

"Oh yeah." I nodded. "Remember second year when Tracey accidentally kneed you in the—"

"Don't remind me."

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident. The subject of types never came up again—something for which I was very thankful. However, our group was plagued with a new topic of interest when, the next evening, Pansy came to dinner with big news. A smug, knowing grin was plastered across her face as she sat in the seat next to me. I quickly pushed the chips from my plate onto Blaise's, but Pansy was too excited to notice that I was breaking the rules of our diet.

"What's got you so excited?" asked Blaise before taking a bite of his newly acquired chips.

"You'll never guess who Nott and I just saw," said Pansy.

Nott hadn't arrived at the Great Hall yet, otherwise I would have just asked him. Instead, I had to grit my teeth, throw away my pride, and ask Pansy, "Who?"

"You have to guess," said Pansy as she loaded her dinner plate up with fruits and vegetables. "Otherwise it's no fun."

Blaise and I exchanged frustrated glances, while Tracey said, "I really don't have a clue."

"Then I'm not telling you anything," said Pansy.

I sighed. "Was it Draco?"

"No," said Pansy with a dreamy look down the table at where Draco was sitting with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Dumbledore?" said Tracey.

Pansy scrunched her face. "Why would I care about that?"

At that moment, Nott appeared, making his way down the aisle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables to take the open seat next to Tracey.

"Thank Merlin, you're here," I said.

"Where have you been?" asked Blaise.

Nott glanced between the two of us, confused. "Finishing off my Astronomy essay."

"Who did you and Pansy see—?" Tracey started to ask before Pansy interrupted her.

"Fine," said Pansy, leaning back in her seat. "You lot are no fun."

Nott looked at the four of us with faint confusion. Then, he shrugged and starting filling his plate with food.

"Hagrid," said Pansy. Nott paused in dishing up haggis and understanding dawned on his face. However, he let Pansy explain. "We were walking back to the castle after Care of Magical Creatures, and we saw the big oaf coming out of his hut."

"But he wasn't teaching Care of Magical Creatures today," said Tracey.

"You should have seen Hagrid's face," said Pansy. "He was covered with cuts and bruises. He looked as though one of his hippogriffs had trampled all over his face. It was nasty."

Nott nodded.

"Well," said Blaise, "if he was talking to the giants in Belarus like Nott said, then no wonder his face looks like that."

"I take it negotiations didn't go well," I muttered.

"I just hope You-Know-Who's negotiations didn't go well either," said Tracey.

There was a moment of silence as we all imagined the Death Eaters fighting alongside giants. A shiver ran down my spine, and I quickly helped myself to some roasted vegetables so that no one would notice.

"Why hasn't Hagrid gone back to teaching Care of Magical Creatures?" asked Tracey, drumming her fingers of the edge of the table.

"His face, I suppose," said Nott. "He and Dumbledore probably don't want students to see his face and wonder what he's been up to."

"Well, Pansy and you saw his face anyways," I pointed out. "So doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

"But Pansy has a talent for finding out things she's not supposed to," said Tracey. "She's an exception."

Pansy was beaming as if she'd just been given the greatest compliment in the world.

I looked up at the teacher's table where Professor Grubbly-Plank sat beside Madam Hooch. The two of them were talking vehemently about something, while Professor Flitwick listened in curiously. How long would Grubbly-Plank continue to teach Care of Magical Creatures? Had she known where Hagrid was when she accepted the post? What about Potter and his friends? Did they know about Hagrid, where he'd been and what he'd been doing?

I couldn't ask my friends what they thought without having to pay the fine, so I kept my mouth glued shut. Instead, I glanced across the hall where the Golden Trio were sitting with a bunch of other Gryffindors—many of whom I recognized from that day outside the Hog's Head. Even though I wasn't certain about what their little group was doing, I silently wished them luck. I may not like Potter, but even I could support someone who was defying Umbridge.

"I hate that woman," I muttered.

"Who?" asked Tracey, surprised. "Grubbly-Plank?"

"I've never met Grubbly-Plank. Why would I hate her?" I shook my head. "I meant Umbridge."

Nott nodded, and Tracey stabbed a roasted pepper on her plate rather violently. "Who doesn't hate her?" she asked.

"Fudge," said Blaise grimly.

"Who voted Fudge into office?" I asked. "I think we should have a revolution and replace him—"

"What are you talking about now?" An all too familiar voice came from behind me.

I leaned back in my seat and looked up to see my younger sister standing over me. There had been a faint teasing to her tone, but now that I saw her, I realized that her expression was dead serious.

"What is it?" I asked, turning around on the bench so that I could face Astoria properly.

Astoria glanced around the table at my friends. "Can I talk to you?"

While no secrets existed between Blaise and me, there were some things I'd rather Pansy didn't know about. I loved the girl, but she had a bad habit of telling Draco everything.

"You want to head back to the common room?" I asked, getting to my feet.

Astoria nodded.

"Later," murmured Blaise.

"Don't forget about our Herbology essay," said Tracey, while Pansy nodded in agreement.

Nott said nothing but managed a warm smile for me.

Astoria led the way out of the Great Hall, and I followed closely behind, weaving my way through the crowds of people who had inconsiderately decided to form clusters in front of the exit. One Ravenclaw boy gave me a murderous glare as I pushed past him. I muttered, "The Dark Lord," under my breath, which caused the boy to turn quickly away from me. I regretted it a moment later, but sometimes, it was all too easy and all too entertaining to abuse my Slytherin reputation.

When we were alone in the hallway, heading towards the Slytherin dungeons, I finally spoke, "So how have you been?"

"Fine."

"How are classes?"

Astoria shrugged. "I'm surviving."

"What's this I hear about you and Roy Fawley?"

Astoria's eyes widened, and she turned to stare at me. A smug smile made its way onto my face. She hadn't expected me to know that.

"You really underestimate Tracey and Pansy's gossip skills," I said.

"There's nothing," said Astoria. "He asked me to go with him to our next Hogsmeade visit. I said 'no'."

"Why?"

"He's a prat."

"Fair enough." Roy Fawley was two years younger than I was, so I didn't know anything about him other than his name, that he liked dueling, and that he had a thing for my sister. I smirked at Astoria and asked, "Are you still waiting for Roger Davies to realize you exist?"

Astoria cheeks turned bright red, but she kept her head high and her eyes directed forward. "I just think Roger Davies is cute. That's all."

"He's fit," I said. "Number One on our Hogwart's Most Fit List."

"How's Adrian Pucey?" she asked abruptly.

I blinked. "What would I know about Adrian Pucey? He seems like a nice bloke."

"You mean Tracey and Pansy don't know?" Astoria let out a little fake gasp. "Well, I'm honored to know some bit of gossip before them." She paused and then added, "Or maybe they just haven't shared the rumors with you yet."

I scowled. There was nothing I hated more than being kept out of the loop. "What are you talking about?"

A wide grin spread across Astoria's face. "You'll find out, sis."

"Really?" I snapped. "You're not going to tell me? You're just going to dangle this information in front of me and then take it away. What kind of pixie shit is this?"

Astoria shrugged, a sweet little smile on her face.

When we reached the stone wall that marked the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons, the smile faded from Astoria's face, and she stared blankly at the wall.

"What's wrong?" I asked. I glanced up and down the hallway, wondering if Astoria had seen something upsetting. But the hallway was the same as usual, the same flickering torches, the same red and gray patterned carpet, the same dark stone walls, and the same arched ceiling.

After a minute of lip biting and hesitation, Astoria reached into the pocket of her black robes and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. She handed it to me, and I opened the parchment to see a letter, addressed to both Astoria and me, in our father's messy scrawl. He wrote that he would be back home for Christmas, and he hoped we could come and stay with him before he went on another business trip to Hong Kong.

Carefully, I folded the letter again and handed it back to Astoria. "Dad's coming back from India."

"Seems so," said Astoria. She placed the letter back in her pocket. "What do you want to do?"

"We haven't seen Dad in sixteen months. But Mum will be furious if we don't stay with her over winter break."

Astoria nodded. "She wants to introduce us to her new boyfriend."

"The reporter?" I asked.

"The solicitor," corrected Astoria.

"Right. I forgot." I turned to stone wall and said, "Dragon's heartstring."

With a rough, grating noise, the wall moved back and to the side, revealing the passageway to the Slytherin common room. I went in first and Astoria followed. I went straight to the black leather couch by the fire and collapsed, dropping my book-bag on the floor. Astoria stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.

"Daph," she asked, "what do you think?"

"You know me," I said, staring into the depths of the unlit fireplace. "I'll pick to stay with Dad every time."

Astoria pursed her lips. She knew that, just as I knew that she'd rather stay with Mum. Astoria had never quite managed to forgive our Dad for caring more about his job than his family. The Department of Mysteries had a way of consuming people; there were too many things the employees couldn't tell their families. Eventually the secrets just build and build until the families couldn't stand it anymore. Our mum had given up on our dad, and our dad had given up on us. When I was nine and Astoria was seven, our parents had signed the divorce papers, and our dad had disapperated to Nigeria to do some work for the Department of Mysteries.

"We should see Dad," I said. "Who knows when he's going to come back from Hong Kong."

Astoria nodded stiffly. For once, she didn't argue with me. "I'll write the letters to Mum and Dad."

I stared up at my sister. There was a little red around her hazel eyes; a look that only appeared when we talked about our dad. I hesitated and then asked, "You sure you don't want me to write one?"

"I'm fine," said Astoria. She sniffed. "Knowing you, you'll forget about it until we're on the Hogwarts Express."

I couldn't argue with that. There was a reason our parents sent their letters to Astoria instead of me. I had a tendency to ignore their letters, knowing they would probably contain bad news. Still, I felt like there was something more I could do for my sister. She shouldn't always have to be the responsible one.

With a short good-bye, Astoria headed to the girls' dormitory, leaving me alone on the couch. There was a handful of other Slytherins in the common room; most students were still having dinner in the Great Hall. A cluster of fourth year boys were huddled over one of the mahogany tables, watching a wizard's chess match, and a couple seventh year girls were whispering about something in the far corner. None of them cared what I was up to.

I tilted my head back and stared up at one of the tapestries on the wall. The grim face of Merlin stared back at me.

I hadn't always preferred my dad to my mum. Just like Astoria, I'd been angry with our dad for leaving. For the first year after the divorce, I'd refused to talk about him. He'd written letters to us—letters from Nigeria, Mexico, South Africa, Russia—and we'd thrown them all away without reading them.

But then, my mum had started to bring home the boyfriends. Alfred Selwyn was the first one. I'd woken up one morning to find him in our kitchen. He hadn't even smiled or said "hello" when he saw me. He'd just glared at me with those unfathomable black eyes. I'd ran back up the stairs to my bedroom and hid under the covers. Alfred Selwyn didn't last more than a couple weeks before he'd been replaced by Evan Proudfoot. One night, after she'd had too much vodka, my mother told me that she liked Evan Proudfoot because he was an auror and a bit of a bad boy. Evan the Auror had lasted a whole seven months before he was replaced. I don't remember by who.

I closed my eyes and leaned back into the leather couch.

After Proudfoot, I had begun to read and respond to dad's letters. I'd realized that the one who'd betrayed me wasn't the father who traveled to foreign countries, but the mother who only remembered my existence when her boyfriends were busy and there was no alcohol in the house.

Astoria, on the other hand, still saw Mum as a victim: Mum had been abandoned by Dad just like us; no wonder she drowned herself in firewhiskey.

I'd never had the heart to correct Astoria, to tell her the firewhiskey had started well before the divorce.

"Daph."

My eyes were closed, but I still knew to whom that deep voice belonged. I reached out a hand, and when Blaise took it, I pulled him down onto the couch next to me. I rested my head on his shoulder and glanced around the common room. Tracey, Nott, and Pansy were standing in front of the fireplace, watching me curiously.

"We were going to see if you wanted to do our Herbology homework in the library," said Tracey slowly.

"What did Astoria want?" asked Pansy.

Pansy's voice was gentle, something I rarely heard. Tracey took a seat in the armchair next to me, while Nott remained standing, his dark eyes filled with quiet concern.

"Dad's going to be in London for winter break," I said.

"Oh." Pansy settled onto the couch across from me. "You want to stay with your dad."

It wasn't a question. They had all been there when I'd had to make this same choice in my third year. They'd been there when Astoria and I had gone three weeks without talking because I wanted to stay with Dad and she wanted to stay with Mum. Nott and Tracey had been the ones who had finally convinced Astoria that we needed to see our dad.

"Astoria didn't argue this time," I said.

Silence settled over us. Pansy had a grim expression on her face, and Nott was still looking at me thoughtfully. Blaise sat completely still, acting as the perfect pillow for my head.

"Do you want some pastries?" asked Tracey abruptly. "I can steal some from the kitchens."

"I'm good," I said.

"You know we're here for you if you want to talk," said Pansy.

I smiled. "I know."

"It's good that you get to see your dad again, though," said Tracey. "I always think you're incredible. I don't think I could last that long without seeing one of my parents."

"He writes a lot," I said.

"Is he bringing you a souvenir from India?" asked Pansy.

"He usually does."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "You have so many souvenirs. Astoria too. Does he get you something from everywhere he's been?"

I nodded.

"My parents never buy me anything," whined Pansy. "They love going on vacations while I'm at school. They went to Paris two weeks ago, and they're going to the Alps this month."

"They don't ever take you on vacation?" asked Tracey.

"Who would want to go on vacation with just their parents?" scoffed Nott.

"Exactly," said Pansy. "I would just impose on their shag time." She shuddered. "I don't want that to happen again."

Tracey gasped. "You've seen your parents shagging?"

"Unfortunately," said Pansy.

Blaise nodded. "I have too. I wish I could hex it from my memory."

I let their voices fade to the background, my head still resting on Blaise's shoulder. There had been many nights like this over the past four years, and I took comfort in the familiarity. No matter what, my friends would be there for me. Even when my dad was on the other side of the world and my mum was preoccupied with her boyfriends and my sister was angry with me, my friends would be there.

All those people who say Slytherins are evil have never bothered to look carefully enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What boy could ever top Cedric Diggory in Daph's eyes? 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos!


	9. The Question of Taking Sides

**Chapter Nine: The Question of Taking Sides**

It was nearly three in the morning on a Monday, and I had yet to perform a successful stunning spell. Blaise, Nott, and I were in an abandoned classroom on the third floor and had been there since ten that evening, attempting to learn the spells required for our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL. Tracey had been with us originally, but she'd figured out the spell somewhere around midnight and decided she wanted some sleep before classes. Blaise had also managed to cast the spell properly, but he remained behind to put out any fires I started.

We had no fear of being caught at least since Pansy and Draco were the prefects on duty tonight. As much as Draco despised me, he would never turn in his fellow Slytherins for being in a classroom after curfew.

"It's really not that hard," said Nott after I completely missed the ball I was supposed to be targeting and hit a desk instead, leaving a dark scorch mark on the wood.

With a flick of his wand, Blaise made the mark disappear. "On the bright side," he said, "I'm going to ace my Charms OWL."

"You and Hannah both," I muttered.

"I see you two in Charms class," said Nott. "Abbott is good at putting out fires—maybe we should recruit her for these lessons."

"She already helps me with the Charms spellwork," I said. I didn't add that she was involved in the student rebellion against Umbridge and probably didn't want to start meeting Slytherins in the middle of the night. It wouldn't be good for her reputation.

Since no one trusted me to practice on them, Nott had spent the night rolling a rubber ball across the floor, while I attempted to stop it. I wasn't even sure how I'd managed to leave scorch marks on the desks—the stunning spell was supposed to knock a living creature unconscious or stop an object in motion, not create fire. My ability to mess up wandwork astounded even me sometimes.

"I wonder how people are going to do on our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL," said Blaise, absentmindedly spinning his wand on the desk. "I heard Macmillan talking about getting the older students, who have already passed their OWLs, to teach the fifth-year Hufflepuffs."

"Ravenclaws are usually smart enough to manage on their own," said Nott. "They probably have a study group."

"That's what Sue and Stephen told me." I raised my wand and pointed it at the ball. " _Stupefy_."

The ball shot across the floor, gaining speed rather than stopping.

"Raise your wand more at the end," said Nott.

"Why do I bother?" I asked. "Can I just get a Troll on my OWL and be done with it?"

"You'll do better than a Troll," said Blaise. "I've never seen you get more than two questions wrong on the written portion of a test."

"Theory is easy," I said as Nott rolled the ball again. " _Stupefy_." The ball at least slowed this time. "If I got an Outstanding on my written and a Troll on my wandwork, do you think I could at least get an Acceptable overall?"

"Aim for a Dreadful on the wandwork at least," said Blaise.

Nott rolled the ball across the floor again and I raised my wand. " _Stupefy_." The ball slowed.

"Well," said Nott. "This is at least closer to the ideal result."

"I'm improving?" I asked, incredulous.

Nott's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "Yes, Daph, you're improving."

I glanced down at the cedar wand in my hand and then back up at my friends. "I'm improving." I could hardly believe it myself.

"Congratulations," said Blaise. "But can we call it quits for the night? We all have to wake up in four hours for breakfast."

Nott nodded. Shadows were already forming under his eyes. I was sure I looked no better—I felt like I was going to collapse from exhaustion. We picked up our belongings and put the desks back in order before beginning our stealth mission back to the Slytherin dungeon. And by "stealth mission", I mean that we stumbled through the hallways, trying not to fall asleep before we got back to our beds.

We were on the first floor, heading to the stone wall where the entrance to the Slytherin common room was located, when a drawling voice came from behind us, "What's this? Students out of bed."

I didn't have to see to know who it was, but I still turned to look at Draco, his green and silver prefect's badge glimmering on his chest. He wore his usual smug smile as he looked over us.

"I could give you a detention for this," said Draco.

"Come on," I said, fighting back a yawn. "We're all tired."

"I'm obligated to report this," said Draco, not listening.

Did I really believe that Draco would report us? No. He cared too much about our house to risk Slytherin losing points over this. However, I hated that he was keeping us from our nice, warm beds and I snapped, "Come on, Draco—"

"Nott was teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts spells," said Blaise, cutting across me, "since Daphne is terrible, and Umbridge won't let us practice in class."

I expected Draco to sneer about how bad I was at wandwork, but instead, Draco blinked in surprise. "You lot teach each other spells?"

"Yeah," I grumbled, too tired to come up with a scathing remark. "We've been doing it since second year. Nott's really good at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Through half-open eyes, I watched a smile form on Draco's face, and then he said, proudly, "We Slytherins should help each other out. My father teaches me Dark Arts spells when he can, and I try help Crabbe and Goyle." He frowned. "They're not very good students though."

I opened and closed my mouth. Through the five years that I had known Draco Malfoy, I had never known that he taught Crabbe and Goyle spells for class. And he was doing that between prefect duties and Quidditch practice. It was so out of character for him—at least out of character for how I thought of him—and I had no idea what to do with that information. Finally, I murmured, "Yeah, I can imagine."

"Umbridge is a cow," said Draco, apparently not noticing my confusion. "She makes me miss the werewolf, if you can believe it. But at least she's taking this school out of Dumbledore's influence. At some point, we're going to have to take sides." He glanced at Nott, and there was something in his gaze that was supposed to be for just them, the sons of Death Eaters.

Whatever Draco expected from Nott, I don't think he got it, because Draco scowled and Nott said, "We should get to bed. We're all about to collapse."

Draco nodded but didn't say anything.

"Say hi to Pansy for us when you see her," I said.

Blaise gave the password, and the wall slid aside to let us inside the Slytherin dungeon. It was only when the door was firmly closed behind us that Blaise said, "That was odd."

I glanced over my shoulder. When I was certain that Draco wasn't eavesdropping through the stone wall, I asked, "Did either of you know that Draco actually spent time helping Crabbe and Goyle with classwork?"

Both Blaise and Nott shook their heads.

"You learn new things every day," said Nott.

"Some new things I don't want to learn," I muttered.

Blaise patted the top of my head. "That's because you don't like being wrong."

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black," I said, shoving Blaise's hand away. "You don't like being wrong any more than I do." I glanced at Nott. "What did Draco mean about taking sides?"

"It's a mystery to me," said Nott with a shrug of his left shoulder.

"It probably has to do with their fathers being Death Eaters," said Blaise with an apologetic look in Nott's direction. "Draco likes to act as if he's in the know. He probably assumes Nott's the same way."

"I was thinking it was like Dumbledore's army versus Umbridge's army," I said. "Eventually we'll have to choose a side."

Blaise snorted. "Does your brain have an 'off' switch?"

"I'm just saying," I said. "There's a student movement against Umbridge brewing, and I wouldn't be surprised if Umbridge rallied together the students who support the ministry soon. You know Malfoy would join a group like that in a heartbeat."

"A student movement?" asked Nott.

"I'd tell you, but then I'd owe you a sickle," I said. "Blaise can explain."

Blaise yawned. "As fascinating as your mind is Daph, I need to sleep."

He started towards the staircase, and after a quick goodnight to me, Nott followed him. I watched the two of them climb the staircases to the boys' dormitories before turning away and heading to my own dorm. Even after I had changed into my pajamas and curled up in bed, I still couldn't shake the odd feeling that had settled in my stomach. Not about the student movement and choosing sides. No, it was Draco Malfoy who had me lying awake in bed. I never would have thought that Draco would teach his friends wandwork to help them pass Defense Against the Dark Arts. It didn't seem Draco's style at all. He was a petty, selfish, arrogant ferret.

Blaise was right; I didn't like being wrong about people.

But I also didn't think I was wrong about Draco. I'd been in the same house as him for over four years, and I'd seen how he'd used Pansy's feelings towards him. I rolled over in bed. He was an arsehole, and no matter how much he helped Crabbe and Goyle pass their classes, he wasn't going to be any less of an arsehole.

And with that settled, I could sleep easy again.

* * *

"Hagrid is teaching Care of Magical Creatures again," said Pansy as she slid into the seat next to mine at lunch a few days later. "And the High Inquisitor was there."

Blaise and I had gotten out of Arithmancy early, so we'd gone down to the Great Hall on our own. We were both almost finished with our lunches and planned to head to the library afterwards to get a head start on our Transfiguration homework; however, Pansy's announcement instantly put a hold on those plans. I always made time for gossip.

"How'd it go?" I asked Nott as he sat on my other side.

Nott, for some reason, kept his head down, and it was Tracey who answered my question. She dished some pasta onto her plate, saying, "It was a good lesson. Better than I expected. Honestly, Umbridge shouldn't find anything to fault him on, other than that, according to her, thestrals are classified by the Ministry as 'dangerous'."

"Thestrals are dangerous?" asked Blaise. "Don't they pull the carriages to the school? Shouldn't that be illegal if they're dangerous?"

I glanced over at Nott. "You learned about thestrals in Care of Magical Creatures?"

He nodded. His silence made sense now. If they'd studied thestrals, it no doubt came up that only people who had seen death could see them. Nott hated sharing personal information about himself—it was hard work for us to get him to talk to us about his mother, and it'd probably been torture for him to admit in front of his classmates that he had seen someone die.

I wanted to do something, or at least see how he was feeling, but Pansy was recounting how she'd told Umbridge that she couldn't understand what Hagrid said when he spoke, making it impossible to say anything to Nott right then.

"Hagrid isn't that hard to understand," said Tracey.

"Don't you want Grubbly-Plank back?" asked Pansy. "She's such a better teacher—you know it, I know it, all of Slytherin knows it. It's just because Dumbledore has a soft spot for that half-giant that he's still here."

Tracey bit her bottom lip. "Well, yes…"

"Hopefully Umbridge will fire him," said Pansy. "Then we can say some good has come of the High Inquisitor."

Blaise scowled. "Nothing good will ever come of having Umbridge here."

Rather than get into that argument, I stole a piece of roasted potato from Nott's plate. When he stared at me, I asked, "You want to talk about it?"

Nott's eyes narrowed, and then he turned back to his plate. "Not especially."

"If you ever want to, you know we're here." I stole another piece of potato and then said loudly, "You know Umbridge wants to fire Hagrid, because he's loyal to Dumbledore. Whether he's a good or bad teacher has nothing to do with it. I bet he'll be gone before the holidays."

"She has to put him on probation first," said Blaise. "There's a system to these things."

"Well, I hope she puts him on probation before break," said Pansy. "I miss Grubbly-Plank already."

"What's everyone doing for the holidays?" asked Tracey loudly, trying to change the subject.

"Visiting Dad," I said, quickly. I really didn't want to get into an argument with Pansy about Umbridge's presence at Hogwarts. From the sound of things, Pansy had been spending too much time around Draco.

"Going to Italy," said Pansy. Her parents traveled every year; they hated being home for the holidays, and over the past four years, they'd been to Greece, Australia, Mexico, and Fiji, in that order. Pansy rarely stayed for the holidays, preferring to travel with them. Then she would come back after break was over and lord it over us that she'd seen more of the world than we had.

Tracey pulled a face. "I'm jealous. Italy sounds warm. We're going to London to visit my mum's family."

"A muggle Christmas?" asked Pansy. There was a slight sneer to her voice that none of us missed.

Tracey chose to ignore it. "My grandparents are rich, and they like spending money on the grandchildren they rarely see."

"We're staying in Number Six's mansion in Scotland over the holidays," said Blaise.

We all turned to Nott, who had just taken a huge bite of potatoes. He looked around at the rest of us, gulped, and said, "It's the same as every year."

"Just make sure you give us all the updates on the Dark Lord when we get back," I said.

"At least you enjoy hearing what my father has to say," muttered Nott.

"Whenever home feels unbearable," I said, "remember that you're doing it for us."

Nott shot me an annoyed stare and then said, "I'll report back to you, but it comes at a price. No more stealing my potatoes."

My jaw dropped. "You snitch—"

"Stealing his potatoes?" cried Pansy, rounding on me. "What happened to our carbs rule, Daph? Don't tell me you've been breaking our diet again! I was going to let you go easy over winter break, but now I'm going to have to make tables of what you can and can't eat…"

I tuned Pansy out. Instead, I glowered at Nott, who was staring down at his plate and solemnly eating the rest of his roasted potatoes. Nott was usually my trustworthy friend, the one who would never rat me out to Pansy, but apparently Care of Magical Creatures had upset him more than he wanted to let on. I was dying to know what he was thinking, get him to explain what was going on in that head of his; however, if Nott didn't want to say something then the Dark Lord himself couldn't get the information out of him.

* * *

A week later, with the arrival of the crisp December snows, Slytherin flattened Hufflepuff on the Quidditch pitch. Adrian Pucey's goals had equaled all of the other team's combined, Crabbe had managed to send one of the Hufflepuff Chasers to the Hospital Wing, and Draco had caught the Snitch from right under Summerby's nose. All of which meant, of course, that our house had to celebrate.

The Slytherin common room was decorated with green and silver banners, and the prefects had procured extra chairs for people to sit on. A long table was decorated with fake serpents and held plates of desserts. I loved free food, and our group of friends spent the afternoon in the common room. The problem with parties, however, was that people who didn't usually dwell in the common room were now there. Our spot was occupied by some sixth years (and because they were older, we couldn't kick them out), so we were forced to stand by the entryway. The Slytherin Quidditch team and their admirers hung out not far from us, enthusiastically recounting the day's match. And some giggling first years stood on our other side, the girls casting admiring glances at Blaise.

After an hour, however, we managed to claim our usual spot by the fire from the sixth years. Nott took the armchair and Blaise and I sat in front of the fireplace, while Tracey and Pansy went to get some more snacks (though I wouldn't be surprised if Pansy got sidetracked, listening to Draco brag about his miraculous catch—he calls it skill, I call it getting lucky).

"It's a shame they can't serve butterbeer at these parties," I said, stretching my legs out in front of me. "But the professors don't want the ickle first years to get their hands on it."

"The Quidditch players smuggled some butterbeer into their dorm room," said Blaise. "They're charging five knuts to anyone that wants some."

"What a rip off," I muttered.

"I heard they also have some firewhiskey," said Nott. "But that's for team members only."

"Of course. I expect nothing less of those pricks."

Nott glanced down at me, eyebrows raised. "You could probably convince Adrian Pucey to give you some."

That made Blaise laugh. My eyes narrowed as I looked between the two boys. They'd been like this at the Quidditch game too. It started with Pansy and Tracey snickering when I'd cheered for Adrian's goal. Their laughter got to the point where I was wondering if they were conspiring with Astoria behind my back. Blaise and Nott must have asked them what was going on, because soon all four of my friends were enjoying some inside joke at my expense. I wasn't a complete idiot though. If my friends were laughing whenever I cheered for a bloke, it meant they thought there was something going on between me and said bloke. Since there definitely wasn't anything on my end other than me objectively thinking Adrian Pucey was fit and wanting to be friends with him, then it had to be that Adrian Pucey fancied me.

Well, hippogriff shite.

"I'm not asking Adrian Pucey for anything," I said, folding my arms across my chest. "So you lot can stop giggling like first years."

That shut Blaise and Nott up, at least.

"Besides," I said, "what's so funny about Adrian Pucey fancying me?"

"His taste for one thing," said Blaise, not missing a beat.

I elbowed Blaise in the ribs. Nott was sitting in the armchair, out of reach of my elbows, so unfortunately, I had to settle for glaring. "Anyone would be lucky to fancy me, you gits."

"You mean unlucky," muttered Blaise. This time he was ready for my attack and blocked my elbow with the palm of his right hand.

"And we feel sorry for the poor bloke who ends up dating you," said Nott.

That hurt. It surprised me how much that statement hurt. I was fine with the joking and all the talk about fancying people right up until they actually talked about dating. Because, in the end, I knew they were right. I felt sorry for the poor bloke who ended up dating me too. He'd probably end up dating someone who traveled to get away from him or clung to him as if he were a floatation device, because I didn't know a damn thing about relationships—

"Daph." Blaise placed a hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. He was looking at me with concern in his dark eyes.

"I'm fine," I said, shaking the negative thoughts away.

Nott leaned forward in the armchair, saying, "Sorry, Daph. I didn't mean it anything serious."

"Right. Yeah, I know." I didn't blame him. I knew it was just some playful joking.

The three of us sat in silence for a minute. Me, wallowing in self-loathing. Blaise, wallowing in worry. And Nott, wallowing in regret. We must have looked like a pitiful group, but thankfully, Tracey arrived right then with éclairs and cream puffs to heal all our wounds.

"I made it!" said Tracey, taking a seat at the foot of the armchair. She placed the plate of desserts in front of her for us to share, saying, "Pansy made us watch Draco reenact his catch. He had Goyle playing Summerby. You should have seen Goyle trying to act. I think he even went cross-eyed at one point."

"Is that where Pansy is?" I asked. I took a chocolate éclair from the plate even though food was the last thing on my mind. Eating at least gave me something to do.

Tracey nodded solemnly. "I tried to save her, but you know Pansy. She has a one-track mind. In the end, I made the hard choice between Pansy and getting the last of the cream puffs."

"You made the right choice," said Blaise.

I looked over at Nott, expecting him to make an obligatory comment about how there was no saving Pansy from Draco, but Nott's brow was still furrowed, deep in thought. No doubt he was eating himself up over his thoughtless comment.

I listened half-heartedly as Tracey shared some gossip she'd heard about Harry Potter and Cho Chang fancying each other. Blaise didn't care about the school's dating gossip, but he enjoyed tormenting me and taking some of my money, so they continued on the subject of whether Potter and Chang would officially get together for some time. Then, Tracey started complaining about the amount of homework fifth years were given and how she couldn't believe how fast the final tests before the holidays were approaching. And at that thought, Blaise decided he needed some butterbeer from the sixth years. Tracey went with him, wondering if she could wheedle some firewhiskey out of them, which left me alone with Nott.

He glanced sideways at me, his hazel eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he seemed to think better of whatever he'd been planning to say and looked away. Perhaps, I realized, Nott had also been wanting to talk to me all this time. But before I could get my mouth open to ask what was going on, Nott said, "I shouldn't have said it, about you being bad at relationships. You know I don't really believe that."

I tried to smile at him, but I think it turned out more of a grimace. "It's fine."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't mean it," I said. "We all say stupid things when joking around. You know how many times I've insulted people while joking around?"

"You call people 'mudbloods' as a joke," pointed out Nott.

I sighed. "I've told you a thousand times that I say 'mudbloods' as a way of criticizing the stereotype of Slytherins as future Death Eaters."

"By fulfilling said stereotype?"

"It's a work in progress," I muttered. "I should probably revise my methods." I leaned back, stretching my legs out in front of me. "You shouldn't feel all guilty over a stupid comment. I'm fine. Or as fine as a nutcase like me can be." I grinned. "What about you? How you doing? The holidays aren't far away."

Nott scowled. "I sent my father a letter asking to be allowed to stay here."

"What'd he say?" I asked.

"Never going to happen," said Nott. "Travers and Avery are going to be there, and my father wants to introduce me."

Judging by Nott's grim expression, this wasn't good news. I bit the insides of my cheeks, hesitating, before saying, "They're Death Eaters, I take it."

Nott nodded.

"You know all that stuff I say…" I took a deep breath. "About wanting you to keep us informed and all that. Don't take it seriously. It's just me saying stupid stuff. You know me."

"I know," said Nott. "I never take anything you say seriously."

"Hey!" I kicked his shin lightly.

He smiled down at me. "Kidding."

"Write to me," I said, "over the holidays. You can complain to me about your dad and his pixie-shite friends. You know I'm always in the mood for a good rant."

"I always write to you over the holidays," pointed out Nott.

"And your letters are always so sort! Tracey always fills out a good roll of parchment, telling me about every mundane thing her family did. Pansy, as you know, sends me well over that, detailing eating regimes and her new plan to get Draco's attention. Even Blaise manages multiple paragraphs telling me about the goings on in Zabini household. But you!" I sent Nott a ferocious glare. "You never write to me first, and when you do write, it's about three sentences, saying 'All's good' and 'Happy holidays'."

Rather than look ashamed like I'd intended, Nott only said, "But you ask us all to recount everything that happened over the holidays when we get back to Hogwarts anyways. There doesn't seem much point in writing a full letter."

I glowered at him.

Nott smiled. "I'll try better this time. I promise."

"Daphne!"

Tracey's slightly shrill voice broke our conversation short, and we turned to see her and Blaise standing together, looking over at the far end of the common room where a crowd had gathered. Tracey was nervous, her fingers knotted together as she kept glancing to us and back to the across the hall. Blaise only looked straight ahead, his brow furrowed and his eyes intense.

Nott and I exchanged puzzled glances before we got to our feet and went to see what had our friends so worked up. As I walked past the clusters of other Slytherins, I realized that while Nott and I had been talking, a sort of hush had fallen over the common room, and everyone had slowly started to pay attention to this group of people standing underneath the tapestry of a great green serpent.

"What's going on?" I asked Tracey in a whisper.

"Listen!" She grabbed my arm and turned me so that I was facing the crowd.

Graham Monatgue, the captain of the Quidditch team, seemed to have had a bit too much firewhiskey. His cheeks were a little red as he stood at the front of the crowd, speaking in a booming voice. "What has Dumbledore ever done for us? If you think that old man gives a rat's arse about us Slytherins, then you're in the wrong common room."

"You tell him, Graham!" shouted a seventh year from across the common room.

I frowned, standing on tiptoe to see who Montague was talking to. Blaise tapped my shoulder, and I leaned back so that he could whisper, "Some fourth year named Harper told Montague that Dumbledore wasn't 'all that bad', and Montague started yelling at him about how Dumbledore's a 'bloody bastard'—his words not mine."

"When has Dumbledore ever stopped the other houses from treating us like shit?" continued Montague, his voice filling the common room, reaching every Slytherin even if they didn't want to hear him. "You've heard the Ravenclaws whispering that we're all future Death Eaters. You've heard the Gryffindors saying they should just throw us all in Azkaban as soon as the Sorting Hat declares us Slytherins. I'm not joining up with You-Know-Who. None of us are! But does that stop those pricks from saying so? And has Dumbledore, that bloody bastard, done anything to stop the other houses from saying stuff like that about us?"

I winced with each word that Montague said, because at some point, I had said them too—though maybe not in the same way. I hated hearing my own words come out of the mouth of someone I despised.

The poor fourth year just stood in front of Montague, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Montague was right—Dumbledore didn't care about Slytherin—but he didn't need to yell all this at the boy.

"Someone should stop him," said Tracey. "Harper was just stating his opinion."

However, no one was making a move to end Montague's rant. Most of the older students remained in their seats, watching Montague yell with vague expressions of annoyance and curiosity. I could see Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle on the far side of the room. Draco seemed faintly amused by Montague, and I wondered if this was a conversation they'd had at Quidditch practice. On either side of Montague, Cassius Warrington and Miles Bletchley were grinning at the poor fourth year, enjoying his discomfort. And the crowd that surrounded Montague, which looked to be mainly third and fourth years who were still young enough to idolize the Quidditch team, were almost all cheering in support of his words.

I glanced back at Blaise, and he shrugged. Should we do something? Or should we let Montague blow off steam? He'd probably get tired soon enough and return to bragging about the Quidditch match.

It was Nott, actually, who started moving forward, but before he could take more than two steps, a clear voice from the crowd said, "Graham, stop. You've made your point." Adrian Pucey stood a little behind his captain, frowning.

I blinked in surprise. I knew Adrian Pucey was an all right bloke, but I didn't expect him to speak out against his friend.

However, Montague wasn't done yet. His voice filled the common room as he rounded on Adrian. "Right. I forgot that we have a Dumbledore supporter in our midst."

"Graham," said Adrian, his voice tense with impatience. "You know that's not true. You've had too much—"

"I've told you over and over again," said Montague. "The Ministry's finally taking action. They've realized they can't let a crackpot like Dumbledore keep running our school. That's why they've brought Umbridge in—"

"So you want to replace Dumbledore who favors Gryffindor with Umbridge who favors Slytherin?" snapped Adrian. After a second, he seemed to think better of himself and he said, pleading, "Come on, Graham. Let's call it a night."

For a moment, Montague looked like he was about to agree with Adrian. His eyes were drowsy from the firewhiskey, and he sort of staggered forward, nodding ever so slightly. But then—then, some idiot red-haired girl in the crowd cried, "At least with Umbridge, the rest of the school will know how we feel!"

With those words of support, Montague lifted his head, and all the anger came rushing back. "The Ministry will set Hogwarts right again!"

The third and fourth years around Montague were nodding and voicing their agreement. One of the even said, "Umbridge for Headmistress!"—which is something no sane person would wish upon this school. Harper had fled as soon as Montague's attention was on someone else, but Adrian remained, his arms folded over his chest and a stiff expression on his face as he listened to what the crowd had to say.

"Montague's had too much to drink," said some seventh-year girl from one of the armchairs. "Sure, Dumbledore's not perfect, but anyone's better than Umbridge."

One of the boys sitting next to her shrugged. "But the Ministry might manage to straighten out some of the backwards rules in this place. Maybe Potter will stop being rewarded for his rule-breaking, and Gryffindors will have to remember that they're on the same level as the rest of us."

The girl groaned. "Don't tell me you're on Montague's side."

"I'm not on Montague's side," said the boy.

"Well that's what it sure sounds like!"

I didn't want to listen to any more of their fight, but as I looked around the common room, it seemed that a handful of similar conversations were taking place among the older students. Slytherin house was divided, it seemed. Half the students wanted Dumbledore to remain, preferring a wizard who actually cared about our education even if he favored Gryffindor house. Slytherins had endured the other students' dislike of them for years before now; what wasn't acceptable was a professor who refused to teach us magic. The other half of the students were ready for the Ministry's interference. While no one else had mentioned wanting Umbridge as headmistress (thankfully), they certainly didn't seem to mind the idea of Dumbledore being replaced. Equality among the houses, seemed to be the general thought. I heard a couple pureblood elitists saying that the Ministry would set Hogwarts straight, but for most part, those people were ignored.

"I hate to say it," said Blaise, "but it looks like Draco was right."

I groaned, and Nott looked repulsed at the idea of Draco being right about anything.

"Right about what?" asked Tracey.

Blaise nodded in the direction of the crowd. "We might have to end up taking sides."

"Just let me know what side Draco's on," I muttered. "I'll be on the opposite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Politics have reached Slytherin house, and Draco Malfoy isn't wholly irredeemable. Who knew. Daph certainly didn't.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!


	10. Reparations and Resolutions

**Chapter Ten: Reparations and Resolutions**

In the end, the Head Boy, Andrew Runcorn, saw things getting out of hand and brought the party to an early close. Of course, that didn't mean people stopped talking about sides. When Tracey and I retired to our dorm room, we had to listen to Millicent, Georgina, and Pansy talking about how they would support the Ministry's interference at Hogwarts and how someone needed to stand up for Slytherin's rights. It was enough to give anyone a headache. And, to make matters worse, it was all anyone in our house could talk about at breakfast the next morning, too.

The morning started out as usual. I sat down on the long bench with Blaise on my right, Nott in front, and Tracey beside him. I was still in zombie mode and perfectly happy to eat my toast in silence while Blaise read _The Daily Prophet_ and Tracey copied off Nott's Herbology essay. That peaceful morning lasted about five minutes before Pansy showed up with Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle in tow.

"Montague's giving another rant about how Slytherin should support the Ministry," said Pansy, sliding into the seat beside Nott.

I fought back a groan. It was way too early in the morning to be talking about this. It was also way too early in the morning for me to interact with Draco. To make matters worse, Draco took the seat on my right, and Crabbe sat down next to Pansy. Neither she nor I were happy about these arrangements.

"So everyone's in the common room listening to him?" asked Blaise, glancing up and down the Slytherin table, which indeed seemed fairly empty for a Monday morning. No wonder I'd thought it was so peaceful.

"It's just a repeat of what he said last night," said Pansy, helping herself to some fruit.

"He's just using his moment for what it's worth," said Nott.

I nodded and muttered, "It's the only time people care what he has to say."

Even though the comment had been intended for Blaise, Draco overheard. He turned to me and, with a surprising lack of disdain, said, "I haven't heard your opinion on the Ministry or Dumbledore debate, Daphne. Don't you have an opinion about everything?"

I did have an opinion about everything (thank you, Draco, for pointing that out), but I'd been keeping silent about this whole debate, because no matter what I said, I was bound to make a few enemies in my own common room. And as most of the other students in this school hated me for my house, I'd rather keep my enemies in Slytherin to a minimum.

But now, the eyes of my friends were on me. They'd all shared their thoughts last night. Tracey was anti-Umbridge, and since Umbridge represented the Ministry at Hogwarts right now, she was anti-Ministry. Nott thought similarly, but he'd added that if the Ministry sent someone else to monitor Hogwarts, and he thought they would make a positive change to the school rather than simply campaign against Dumbledore, he could be persuaded to change sides. Blaise was pro-Ministry, anti-Umbridge. However, he wanted change not for the reasons Montague had listed. Blaise wanted regulations in place such as a standard for professors (no more Death Eaters in disguise) and for detentions (we had all seen the scratched words "I will not tell lies" on Harry Potter's arm). Whenever the question of "Slytherin rights" came up, they all shot me curious glances and refused to comment on the matter.

Draco was still waiting for me to answer, but I had no idea what to say. Finally I settled on, "I haven't heard your side either."

Honestly, I had no desire to hear Draco's perspective on the matter—I figured he was pro-Ministry and pro-Umbridge, end of story—but I'd rather avoid sharing my opinion with him. It'd thrown me to hear some of my usual rants coming from Graham Montague, and I didn't like to think that people might actually be listening to what I had to say.

"My father believes that Dumbledore will cause the downfall of this school," said Draco. Blaise's eyes narrowed at Draco, once again, beginning his opinion with mention of his father. Draco continued as if he hadn't noticed, "Umbridge is a hag, and she needs to teach us some spellwork before our OWLs…"

There was a moment of silence where we all prayed to whatever wizard God existed for our Defense Against the Dark Arts grades.

"…But she's at least bringing some regulation to this school. That half-breed oaf isn't qualified to be a professor, and Trelawney…" Draco snorted, showing just what he thought of the Divination professor.

"The half-giant should never have been allowed to teach." Pansy jumped on Draco's words with the soppiest expression on her face. One would think he'd just declared his love for her rather than insulted two professors. "Remember the hippogriff third year?"

Draco made a face. I didn't think he liked being reminded of how he'd been savaged by a hippogriff. Personally, hippogriffs had been promoted to my favorite animal that day.

"And then there's the whole Slytherin rights that Montague keeps talking about," said Draco. He looked at me expectantly.

"Why do you want to know my opinion?" I asked. I genuinely couldn't understand why Draco Malfoy—the king of pricks who always believed they were right—cared what I thought.

"You're the one who usually rants about this stuff," said Draco with a one-shouldered shrug.

Tracey nodded and playfully rolled her eyes at me.

"It's true," said Pansy. She spoke mainly to Draco, trying not for the first time to impress him with her wit. "Last night it sounded like Montague had actually been paying attention to your Slytherin reputation speeches, Daph." She laughed as if the idea of listening to my rants was funny. Crabbe and Goyle laughed too, so that was an indicator of how good Pansy's sense of humor was.

Draco didn't laugh. Which was surprising, since I never thought the day would come where, even for a moment, I would like Draco better than Pansy.

Other than Pansy and the two minions, the rest of us seemed to be in stunned silence, not quite able to believe Pansy would say such things…not about one of her friends.

"You're one of the horrors we warn first year about," Pansy told me. She switched to her prefect voice, polished and proper, and said, "'Unless you want to get your ear talked off about some Harry Potter conspiracy, don't go near Daphne Greengrass.'" She, Crabbe, and Goyle laughed. Her high-pitched voice usually didn't bother me, but today it reminded me distinctly of a banshee.

"Pansy," said Nott sharply. "No one finds it funny."

"Oh, come on," said Pansy. "I'm just teasing a little." She beamed at me, showing all of her white teeth. "Daph knows I'm teasing."

"There's teasing, and then there's being a cow," snapped Tracey.

Hesitation flickered across Pansy's face, and for the first time, she seemed to realize that she'd crossed a line. It probably helped that Blaise was glaring at her as though he was contemplating trying out one of the Unforgivable Curses not-Mad-Eye Moody taught us last year.

And then, to the shock of all present, Draco said, "I think Daphne's pretty smart. It'd do those first years some good to listen to her."

I don't know if he said it just to piss off Pansy or if he genuinely meant it, but either way, I think that might have been the nicest thing Draco Malfoy had ever said about me. The fact that Draco, of all people, had come to my aid was enough to throw my entire world off-kilter. Draco was never nice, especially not to me, especially not since I laughed when not-Mad-Eye Moody turned him into a ferret last year. He was the biggest prat I'd ever known—he brought his father into everything, he was proud of being from a family of Death Eaters and pureblood supremacists, he bullied anyone he considered lesser than himself, he whined when something didn't go his way, and he treated Pansy like dirt (not that I was particularly mad about that at the moment). But, right then, I remembered that Draco also tutored Crabbe and Goyle so they could pass their classes, and there'd been that one time in third year where he'd helped me figure out how to banish a boggart because my friends had been too busy with their own school work. And Draco was one of the few people in our house, besides my friends, who would discuss Dumbledore's treatment of Slytherins with me. It struck me then, as I gawked at the skinny, blonde bloke sitting next to me, that one day Draco might grow to be a semi-decent person.

Of course, he then had ruin that thought by saying, "Though my father thinks Daphne's a disgrace to the Greengrass family."

Well, that "one day" was still a long ways off.

Pansy was backtracking immediately. "Obviously Daphne's really smart. I was just having a joke." She turned to me, pleading in her eyes. "I didn't mean it, Daph. You know I didn't. I just get carried away sometimes."

My friends were glaring at Pansy, and I didn't think they were in the mood to forgive her anytime soon. I was still trying to recover from Draco destroying my entire worldview and then restoring it two seconds later, and all I could do was mumble, "I'll live."

"You know," said Tracey, a little louder than necessary, "I have a mountain load of homework to get done by tomorrow." She got to her feet, the remainder of her breakfast untouched, and gave me a pointed look.

"Yeah," I said. "I have homework too."

"Me too," said Blaise, while Nott grabbed his bag and got to his feet.

The others watched as Tracey led the way out of the Great Hall, the rest of us following. I half expected Pansy to come after us, begging for forgiveness, but it seemed she didn't want to give up her seat near Draco at the breakfast table. A part of me wanted to turn around and hex her into oblivion (which of course would be a disaster because we all knew my wandwork was terrible), while another part of me wanting to curl up behind one of the suits of armor and cry (which might be worse than one of my hexes going astray).

It was a relief when the heavy doors closed behind us, and we were left alone in the Entrance Hall. Tracey paused, and Nott looked at me, as if waiting for me to say something. Blaise placed a hand on my forearm, but I shrugged it off. I didn't want anyone's pity right then.

When I didn't speak, Tracey folded her arms across her chest and said, "Merlin, Pansy can be such a cow."

I nodded. I hated how much Pansy's words hurt me. I liked to think that I had thick skin, that years of my parents ignoring me had given me the ability to endure anything. But apparently Pansy saying that the whole of Slytherin house found my conspiracy theories annoying was enough to make me want to break down and scream. Hippogriff shite. I didn't want to be this person.

"Draco brings out the worst in her," said Nott.

"What does she see in him?" asked Blaise. He sounded genuinely puzzled.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out," said Tracey. She scowled at the doors of the Great Hall.

"You know what I think about Montague's 'Slytherin rights'?" I asked suddenly.

All three of them turned to look at me, their eyes wide. Of all the things they'd expected me to want to talk about now, Slytherins rights was probably somewhere near last on the list.

"It's a pixie shite notion that doesn't address the real issue." I glared at one of the moving paintings who seemed offended by my cursing. "Montague may have stolen some of my ideas, but he's missing the point. Yes, other students—and professors—shouldn't call us future Death Eaters, and yes, they shouldn't assume all Slytherins are terrible. But you know what? We're also not doing anything to change their perspective of us. People like Draco, Pansy, the two minions, and Montague keep furthering our reputation. It's not going to change unless we do something to change it."

Blaise and Tracey were still recovering from their surprise. Nott, however, said, "You refer to You-Know-Who as 'the Dark Lord' and call muggleborns 'mudbloods'. I don't think you can put all the blame on Draco and Pansy." He paused. "And the two minions." Tracey glared at Nott, silently telling him to shut up, I was not in a condition to hear about this, but he ignored her. Nott refused to be quiet, and instead, he calmly said, "You're also guilty."

"She's right though about them contributing," said Blaise. "Are you saying Daph shouldn't point out problems?"

I barely heard what Nott said in reply. I was still too busy reeling from his words. I was just as guilty. I was just as bad as Draco and Pansy. Well, maybe not as bad, but I was still guilty. No wonder the rest of Slytherin house found me annoying—I was just some hypocrite spewing conspiracy theories that no one cared about.

But they weren't useless theories. Now that I was thinking things through, I realized that I was overreacting a little. Obviously my ideas weren't terrible if Montague decided to use them to spur the Ministry versus Dumbledore debate. And Draco seemed to find my ideas interesting, even if he didn't always agree with them. Blaise, Nott, and Tracey were always willing to listen and discuss, and even Pansy sometimes thought I had some valid points. It was just… I was a hypocrite. And no one, not even me, wanted to listen to a hypocrite.

Nott and Blaise were still snapping at each other, while Tracey looked on, fair exasperated at this point. I tuned back into their argument just in time to hear Blaise say, "Daph's just fine the way she is."

While he hadn't lost his temper yet, he seemed to be on the verge of it. Even when he wanted to hex someone, Blaise rarely showed any outward signs except a cold glare. But right then, he looked as though he was on the verge of shouting at Nott. Poor Nott had no idea what he was in for.

"You know," said Tracey, linking her arm with mine, "I really do have homework to do."

Before the boys could even register what was happening, Tracey and I headed for the library. The best thing to do when people were upset, Tracey always said, was to walk away; nothing good could come about when everyone was angry and hurt. I had never fully appreciated the wisdom in those words until that moment. We left Nott and Blaise behind and went to the library where we took out our textbooks and spent the next four hours doing homework.

Reading was therapeutic for me. Everyone else might fall asleep over the History of Magic texts, but I found the Goblin Rebellions enthralling, and soon the memory of Pansy's cruel words and Nott's blunt truth left me. The hurt drained away and was replaced by curiosity. What had caused the goblins fail? What had caused the Ministry to succeed? Was it bad leadership on the part of the goblins? Was it an effective use of propaganda by the Ministry? Did it all simply come down to luck? I scribbled down notes in the margins of the textbook, drawing theories in my head about how the use of cruelty had been such an effective tactic for the goblins but had ultimately lost them the war because they couldn't gain the support of the common witches and wizards.

By the time four hours had passed, I'd finished my History of Magic essay, and all the emotions from that morning's breakfast had settled into nothing more than a sense of dull bitterness. I was still Daphne Greengrass. I was by no means perfect, but I wasn't the worst human being around. And I was trying to get better.

"How you feeling?" asked Tracey, looking up from her Herbology textbook.

"Well, for a while I could understand why Urg the Unclean thought beheading witches and wizards was a good idea, but now I think I could settle for just a stinging hex."

Tracey smiled. "The Goblin Rebellions always help."

"Always."

* * *

From the beginning, I'd known the whole taking sides debate was going to end horribly. And I'd been right. The only problem was that it had ended horribly for me.

I spent all of Sunday doing homework and hanging with only Tracey. She talked about what had happened only if I brought it up first; however, she didn't seem to understand why I was making a big deal about saying 'mudblood'. "After all," she said, "you don't mean anything bad by it. It's the people who say it to hurt others that I hate." I thought it was a big deal though I couldn't exactly say why, but I stopped trying to explain myself to Tracey. If it wasn't a big deal to her, then I wouldn't try to make it one.

Madam Pince had to kick us out of the library so she could close up for the night, and we slowly trudged back down to the Slytherin dungeon. I briefly wondered if I could send an owl to Sue and Stephen to see if I could crash in the Ravenclaw common room that night. Then I wouldn't have to see my friends until classes the next day. I wasn't a Gryffindor, so it wasn't as if I had any pretend sense of bravery to live up to, facing my fears and all that. But before I could make up my mind to flee, Tracey gave the password to the Slytherin dungeon, and we went inside.

The first person I saw was Blaise. He was the only one in our usual spot at the back of the common room. I scanned the common room but didn't spot Nott or Pansy anywhere. That was probably for the best. I wanted to deal with my friends one person at a time.

Blaise sat in one of the leather chairs, reading his Transfiguration textbook. Whatever feelings of anger I'd had at him earlier, they were gone. I was still a little annoyed at him for arguing with Nott, yes, but Blaise had only been looking out for me. So I bounded across the room and took a seat on the armrest of the chair. He only glanced up at me, made sure I was all right, before he went back to his homework. Tracey came to join us soon after, sitting on the couch and finishing off her History of Magic essay.

I had finished all my homework in the library, and now that I'd gotten over my initial anger, I wanted to talk. But I knew Blaise wouldn't understand if I tried to explain why Nott's words had hurt so much, why I agreed with Nott that I was a hypocrite. Blaise wouldn't get what was so bad about me saying, "mudblood", any more than Tracey had. "It's just a word," he'd tell me. But it was more than just a word. It was proof that I wasn't much better than Pansy or Draco.

I was relieved of my thoughts, surprisingly, by Nott. Actually, it wasn't that surprising. I knew he was going to approach me at some point. Nott was a good person. He wouldn't let this awkwardness stand between us.

"You want to talk?" Nott had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his robes as he stood next to the armchair. He could barely look at me. He hated talking about emotions and all that, so I imagined this must be killing him. However, if he'd come over to apologize, then I wasn't going to stop him.

I slid off the armrest to follow him. Tracey and Blaise watched us carefully. I'm sure if I'd made any kind of sign that I wasn't in the mood to talk to Nott, they would've whisked me away. I smiled at them so they knew everything was okay.

Nott led the way out of the central area of the common room to the entranceway. He waited until we were out of sight before leaning against the stone wall and looking at me. Nott was, I thought, incapable of not looking dark and mysterious. His brown hair was rumpled as if he'd run his hands through it one too many times, and he had a grim, brooding expression on his thin face.

Of course, he ruined the brooding look by saying, "I'm sorry, Daph."

"I know," I said. "I'm not mad."

"You're not?" He seemed genuinely surprised, and for the first time that night, he met my eyes.

Wearing my warmest smile, I said, "You were just trying to help. I'd rather someone point out my flaws than let me go on ignorant."

"I just had awful timing," said Nott.

I snorted. "The worst."

"Sorry."

I rolled my eyes. "You apologized once, and I'm not mad. Besides, you were right. It was hypocritical of me to go around talking bad about Draco and Pansy because they damage the already-damaged Slytherin reputation when I was contributing as well."

We stopped talking as the wall slid open to admit two second-year boys into the dungeon. We waited until they'd walked past before continuing our conversation.

"I do too," said Nott. "Call them 'mudbloods', that is." He was shifting from side to side, his gazed fixed on my feet. "It's easy to fall into the role of the Death Eater's son."

I moved to stand next to him, leaning against the wall and putting my hands in my pockets as he did. I didn't touch him. If he'd been Blaise, I would've leaned my head on his shoulder, but he wasn't Blaise, and while we were good friends, our relationship wasn't one where I could touch him that easily. So we stood side by side, watching as the two sixth-year prefects left the common room for patrol duties.

"It makes some things easier," said Nott, "to be my father's son. I don't get as much shite from Draco and the minions as the rest of you lot do. Other students will leave me a wide berth because they don't want to upset the Death Eater's son. My visits home are much more pleasant because my family assumes I believe what they believe and I'll follow in my father's footsteps." He tilted his head back and stared at the arched ceiling of the passageway. I didn't know what was going through his head, but finally he said, "I hate seeing myself like that."

"I hate being the thing I hate too," I said. "We're such prats."

A wry smile crossed Nott's face and he turned to look at me. "We are, aren't we." This statement was followed by a heavy sigh. "What are we going to do about it?"

His question threw me, and for a second, I could only stand there and blink like an idiot. It sounds a bit stupid to say, but it had never occurred to me that I could do something. Up until that moment, I'd figured that being hypocritical was just part of who I was, and I was going to have to learn to accept that part of me. But no, now that Nott had asked, the answer was obvious.

"We're going to change," I said. "You and me. It's our resolution for the New Year. No more saying 'mudblood' or joking about our careers as future Death Eaters—"

"Only you do that," said Nott.

I winced as it occurred to me that what might have been a joke to me was a dreaded reality for Nott. However, rather than let myself be bogged down by the stupid things I'd said in the past, I continued with my resolution, "But we're not going to further the Slytherin reputation anymore. We may be fifteen and prats, but we're better than this."

"Are we?" asked Nott. He seemed genuinely uncertain, his eyes slightly wide and questioning.

"Of course we are," I said. "Or we _will_ be."

Nott hesitated and then asked, "You aren't dragging me into another one of your quests to be a 'main character' are you?"

With the fiercest scowl I could summon, I said, "You brought it up, so this doesn't count as me owing you a sickle."

"Of course not."

"This has nothing to do with my desire to be a main character, and everything to do with me wanting to be a better person. My bet about Harry Potter is me reclaiming my school years for myself. For years, everything has evolved around Harry Potter and what Harry Potter is doing. I don't want to be that person waiting on the fringe to see what Harry Potter's story will be this year. No, I want my final school years to be about me and no one else. Harry Potter is going to be a side character in my life, not the other way around." I paused for breath. "But this—changing the way I talk, the words I use—this is about being someone better. I don't want to be what everyone else expects me to be—a muggleborn-hating, Dark Lord-worshipping future Death Eater. And I don't want people to assume that all Slytherin's are like that. So the first step in changing people's minds is to become the person I want them to see Slytherins as. And you…" I glanced at Nott. "You also don't want to be what people expect you to be, right?"

Nott smiled. "Right. New and improved"

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. For once, I wasn't making resolutions on my own while my friends rolled their eyes. For once, someone was trying to change with me. "We'll be the new and improved Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass."

"Please don't say it like that," said Nott, rolling his eyes.

"Why not?" I asked. "It sounds cool!"

"Only you would think that," said Nott. "If anyone else overhears you saying that, I'm going to deny this conversation ever happened."

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he laughed. I elbowed him in the side. He elbowed me back. Grinning to ourselves, we leaned against the wall of the passageway and watched as two seventh-year girls walked past, giving us suspicious glances. I couldn't help but grin at them. Then, when they had entered the dungeon and disappeared from sight, I turned to Nott and said, "From now on, we will do our best to stop further the Slytherin reputation—and our own—and perhaps even try to repair some of the damage done to it."

We shook on it. A wizard and witch's promise.

* * *

I never thought I'd say this, but I was grateful for the end of term exams. The sudden load of homework and studying meant that everyone forgot about the Ministry versus Dumbledore debate. The Slytherin common room was filled with students of all years, pouring over textbooks and old essays, trying to remember every spell and counterspell. I spent most of my time in abandoned classrooms, learning either Transfiguration from Blaise, Defense Against the Dark Arts from Nott, or Charms from Hannah. Hannah said she'd ace her Charms OWL at the end of the year thanks to all the practice I gave her, and well, I couldn't disagree.

For the most part, my friends and I recovered from the incident at breakfast, and things went back to normal. Whatever fight had occurred between Nott and Blaise, they seemed to have forgiven each other (I don't even think they talked about it—they'd just nodded and continued on as if nothing had happened). Nott and I got along, if possible, better than before. The one time I'd used "muggleborn" in conversation rather than "mudblood", I turned to Nott with a triumphant smile, and he'd buried his face in silent laughter (I was probably prouder of using the word one time than I should've been). Tracey had forgiven both Blaise and Nott, and soon she was back to her normal self, sharing gossip she'd gotten form the sixth-year Hufflepuff girls and copying Nott's essays before class.

The one exception was Pansy. Our group felt strangely empty without her presence, but we also couldn't bring ourselves to include her again. If she'd given me a proper apology, I would've forgiven her in a heartbeat, but it seemed that Pansy didn't want to admit that she was wrong, and she took to avoiding me like the plague. She ate meals with Millicent and Georgina, and she sat next to one of them or someone from another house in classes. In Potions, where she was forced to sit with Nott, Pansy only spoke to him when she needed help and Nott reluctantly gave her advice. Interestingly, she didn't seem to follow Draco around as much either. Occasionally, I spotted her talking to him and his minions in the common room, but it was only for short periods of time and she disappeared into our dorm room soon after.

"How long is this going to go on for?" I asked Blaise one night. We were sitting in the common room, my legs draped over his as I read from my Transfiguration textbook and he practiced summoning objects from across the common room.

"Until she realizes she needs us more than we need her," said Blaise. With a flick of his wand, he made his Charms textbook fly to his left hand. I watched with envy…what I wouldn't give to be able to perform a spell so easily…

"What if she never realizes that?" I asked.

"Then she loses out on a good group of friends," he said with a one-shoulder shrug. "We can't force her to apologize for the shite she said, and I'm certainly not forgiving her until she does. It's her problem, not ours."

"But Pansy's our friend," I said.

"If she's our friend," said Blaise, "then she'll apologize to you. Until then, we wait."

With a sigh, I started to read the page about animal transfigurations again.

I agreed with Blaise, of course. I didn't want a friend who talked about how annoying I was and then refused to apologize, but still... Pansy was Pansy. Pansy who had welcomed Tracey and I into the girls' dorm first year and promised that we'd be queens of the school if she had anything to say about it. Pansy who had told our futures when studying for her Divination exam and predicted that I would one day be the greatest arithmancer the world has ever known. Pansy who had called Roland Abberly a "prat not even worthy of being dragon-fodder" when he'd made Tracey cry third year. Pansy who had giggled like a child when Draco had asked her to the Yule Ball last year and who listened to me ramble about my crush on Cedric Diggory. Pansy who had joked that she told first-years to avoid me unless they wanted to listen to my annoying conspiracy theories. I didn't want to lose Pansy, but I wasn't ready to forgive her either.

In the end, our friendship was put to the test when Pansy approached me after our Charms final. She didn't say much, just grabbed me by the arm and tugged me away from the rest of our friends. Tracey and Nott looked ready to intervene, to tell Pansy this wasn't how you treated a friend, but I shook my head at them and followed Pansy obediently.

When she finally let go of my arm, we were standing in an empty corridor two right turns away from the Charms classroom. I immediately folded my arms across my chest and tried to look as intimidating and unforgiving as possible. Pansy had made me feel like shite, and I wasn't going to let her get off easily.

"Daph…" Pansy could barely say my name as she stared at the ground and scuffed her foot against the stone floor. This was not the loud, confident Pansy I was used to at all, and it threw me. My unforgiving face faded a little, and I think I might've actually looked concerned. Pansy lifted her dark brown eyes and said, "I'm a cow."

My jaw dropped. Pansy—selfish, I-can-do-no-wrong Pansy—was actually coming to a self-realization? Was she finally beginning to see herself as others did? Was Pansy about to become reformed?

"I shouldn't have said those things," said Pansy. "It was mean and cruel and petty and even Draco asked how I could treat my friend that way after you lot had left the table."

Never mind. I would like to take back what I said about a reformed Pansy. In the end, her self-realization came only because Draco had pointed out her fault to her.

My eyes narrowed, and I tried to put my unforgiving face back into place. It was a bit late though, and I think I looked more pained than anything else.

Pansy ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know why I said those things…"

"I do," I said, my voice flat. "Draco. It's always Draco with you."

"Why are you bringing Draco into this?" cried Pansy. For a moment, I thought she was going to fight me on this. Her dark eyes were narrowed. But then, her shoulders slumped and she ran a hand through her hair. "I'm not that bad around him, am I?"

I raised my eyebrows. How exactly was I supposed to answer that? Did she want the full truth or only half-truths? Yes, she was really that bad around Draco. She stopped being my friend and became a love-sick puppy dog that trailed after its uncaring master.

"It's just…" Pansy bit her bottom lip. "I've liked him for so long…"

Tears actually started welling up in the corners of her eyes, and before I had time to think, I was patting her shoulder and telling her that everything would be all right. It was only after I told her that "Draco isn't worth your tears" that I realized I was supposed to be mad at Pansy, not comforting her. How did I get roped into this? She just looked so pathetic with a trembling lower lip and slightly puffy eyelids that I couldn't help but think "Poor Pansy".

Suddenly, Pansy lifted her head, tears still in the edges of her eyes, and said, "You're right, Daph. I am better than this."

"I'm right more often than you think," I said. In my head, I added that if she bothered to listen to my "annoying" theories, she would know that.

"You may be Potter-free this year," said Pansy, "but I'm going to be Draco-free."

I blinked. "What?"

"I mean," said Pansy, "it'll be harder for me to avoid Draco than it is for you to avoid Potter, and I'm not paying you a sickle every time I talk to Draco—but this is the year that I move past Draco. No more inviting him to sit with us at lunch. No more picking on Gryffindors to impress Draco. No more fawning over him between classes. As of this moment, I am Draco-free." She paused and then added, "You know, I've always said Hamish Knighton is pretty cute. You think if I asked him to Hogsmeade, he'd say yes?"

Before I could answer, Pansy had turned away and started down the corridor (I figured in search of Hamish Knighton). However, she paused and turned to look over her shoulder at me, her brown eyes strangely fragile. "We're good, Daph, right?"

It took me a second to remember that her resolution to be Draco-free had come from her attempting to apologize to me. Slowly, I nodded. "Yeah, we're good."

A wide smile spread across her face. "I don't know what I'd do without you lot."

And then she was gone, leaving me alone in the corridor with what I was certain must've been a stunned expression. Pansy—Draco-obsessed Pansy Parkinson—had just vowed to give up on him. And this wasn't one of those times where Pansy was crying over ice cream after Draco had done something mean to her and she vowed to move on… No, Pansy had reached this decision all on her own (well, maybe with a little help from me), because she realized that being around Draco made her a mean person, not just to Gryffindors but to her friends. Who would've thought this day would ever come?

Well, I guess stranger things had happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry over the years… But with all these resolutions, the new year was certainly going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pansy Parkinson giving up on Draco Malfoy? Who would've thought. And Daphne and Nott are going to change a lifetime's habit of speaking. Big changes start with small steps, I suppose.
> 
> Please leave a comment!


	11. The Grass Is Always Greener

**Chapter Eleven: The Grass Is Always Greener**

Our dad's house in Liverpool was nothing ostentatious. It was a simple four-bedroom, red-brick home, almost identical to the muggle homes around it—except, of course, magic hid Dad's house from view. To someone approaching from the street, Dad's house was nothing more than a narrow stretch of grass littered with a couple broken statues. But if we tapped the nymph statue three times on its cracked head, the red brick house would rise from the ground, granting witches and wizards entrance.

The home remained empty most of the year while Dad traveled for work, and Astoria and I stayed at school or with our mum. Only Hoben dwelled there year-round, keeping the place in order. He missed us while we were gone, but he enjoyed running the household, and he had Dad's permission to host book club events there. Hoben was a fan of mystery novels, though most of the other house elves in the club liked muggle romances. Hoben constantly complained about their poor tastes in literature.

Memorabilia from Dad's travels were scattered throughout the house. On shelves and in corners, colorful paintings, ornate sculptures, and complex magical artifacts filled every room. Some of the baubles were pretty like the stylized Chinese hippogriff painting, and some were downright horrifying like the empty Egyptian sarcophagus. I would never understand my dad's taste in decorating.

From Platform 9¾, Dad took us home via side-along-apparation. A loud _crack_ announced our arrival, and Hoben came rushing to the foyer to greet Astoria and me. His face lit up when he saw us.

"Welcome home!" Hoben was on the elderly side for a house elf, wrinkles traced his big green eyes and his pointed ears were starting to droop.

"Glad to be home," I said. I tried to smile, but an uneasy feeling had settled in my stomach. It'd started forming when we'd first arrived at the platform and had only grown since then. "I don't think we've been here since July…"

"We haven't," said Astoria. She too was having a hard time faking happiness.

We both glanced over our shoulders at Dad. He stood in the entranceway, holding a piece of parchment in his hand and grimacing as he reread the contents. When we'd found him on the platform, he'd been opening a letter he'd just received from a Ministry owl. He'd stopped to give Astoria and I hugs and welcome us home, but only minutes later, he was reading the letter with a deep frown on his face. He'd taken us home, and now Astoria and I waited. Even though we didn't know what information precisely the letter contained, we already knew what would happen next.

With a sigh, Dad folded up the letter and placed it in the pocket of his robe. "I have to go to work."

When we were younger, Astoria and I would protest. We'd complain that we'd only just seen him again, and we'd tell him that he should take some time off work for his health. Now, Astoria and I only nodded obediently.

"Will you be back for dinner?" asked Hoben.

Dad's hazel eyes, filled with guilt, flickered between Astoria and me before he said, "I don't know. I wouldn't count on it."

"Stay safe," said Astoria with a thin smile.

"Don't work yourself too hard," I added.

Dad gave us each a hug before stepping back onto the doormat. "Love you both. I'll be back as soon as I can."

And with that, he disapparated. I stared at the "welcome" mat he'd been standing on only moments before. Welcome indeed.

* * *

21 December, 1995

To my darling Blaise,

Happy birthday! I know I'm a few days early—or late, depending on how fast Isolde flies and if she decides to take a vacation again (Pansy never forgave me for that incident). But how does it feel to be sixteen? Any different from fifteen? I won't find out until February, and you know what an impatient person I am.

Astoria and I are regretting the choice to spend the holidays with our dad right now. I know it's not his fault, but ever since we got home, he's been in and out of the house. When he does come home, it's late at night, and he sleeps the entire time he's here only to leave early in the morning the next day. It's been Astoria, Hoben, and me, and while I adore both of them, there's only so many games of Exploding Snap that we can play before we get bored.

But anyways, enough on that depressing topic. I have a new depressing topic to discuss! Well, actually, it's slightly related… But anyways, have you been reading the papers? Stupid question, of course you have. But did you leave the business section to read about the Ministry employee that was attacked by some kind of animal? The article was very vague, and you could tell that the Ministry was trying to keep things on the down low. I bet that article left you very curious. It did, didn't it?

Well, for once, I am the source of reliable information and not Nott!

The attack happened in the Department of Mysteries. I know because that's why Dad hasn't been around. He kept it very hush-hush at first, but during one of his brief visits home, he was in such a rush to return to the Ministry that he accidentally left some papers behind. So, being the curious girls that we are, Astoria and I read them.

Firstly, turns out that it wasn't just any animal attack—it was a snake. Secondly, the employee that was attacked was none other than Arthur Weasley. That name should ring a bell. Draco bragged about how his father was higher ranked and more influential than Arthur Weasley all of second year. I'm sure you don't know much about Arthur Weasley beyond Draco's ramblings, but I should tell you this: Arthur Weasley had no business being in the Department of Mysteries. He is not an Unspeakable. In fact, I think I remember Draco saying something about him working with muggle artifacts. What a security breach, huh? A Ministry employee in the wrong part of the Ministry and then getting attacked by a snake. No wonder my dad's been in and out of work since we got home.

Now, I don't know Arthur Weasley personally, but based on what I know of his children, I don't think he's the hardened criminal type. So why would he break into the Department of Mysteries? My answer: Dumbledore. Now, I know you're going to dismiss this as a crazy theory, but hear me out! Everyone knows the Weasley family is close to Dumbledore. As much as I hate to admit it, Montague is right—there is some sort of Dumbledore versus the Ministry fight going on. So, don't you find it suspicious that someone who is close to Dumbledore is in a section of the Ministry where he shouldn't be? I don't think Dumbledore is petty enough to try to sabotage the Ministry for no reason, but perhaps it has something to do with Dumbledore's lack of trust in the Ministry. Do you know how big a blow this is to the Ministry? A break-in! And with the _Daily Prophet_ reporting on it… Let's just say the Ministry's lucky that the reporter didn't know which department was broken into.

What do you think? Am I on the right track? I should probably ask Nott too. He's always in the know. I'll tell you if he says anything interesting!

Love, your always bestie,

Daph

* * *

I tied the letter to the foot of my horned owl and then opened the window to let her fly. I watched her wide, brown wings flap in the wind before I turned back to face the kitchen. Pots bubbled on the gas stove as Hoben cooked dinner for three. He stood on a wooden stool, mumbling to himself as he added spices to the saucepan. Astoria sat at the island, quill and parchment spread out in front of her as she wrote her own letter. Three own cages rested at the end of the counter. The one in the middle, which had contained Isolde, was empty. The cage on left held Astoria's brown owl, and the cage on the right held the family owl.

"Who you writing to?" I asked as I sat down opposite Astoria to start on my second letter.

"My boyfriend," said Astoria, not taking her eyes off the parchment in front of her.

"Y-your what?"

"My boyfriend," repeated Astoria. She glanced up and, upon seeing the horrified expression on my face, rolled her eyes. "It's not a big deal."

"B-b-but…" I couldn't picture my sister dating anyone. "Who?"

"Jon Harper," said Astoria. "He asked me out just before the end of term."

It took me a moment to recall that Harper was the fourth year who'd told Montague that Dumbledore wasn't all bad and had started Montague on his pro-Ministry rant. I frowned. "You like that kid?"

"He's nice," said Astoria. "He doesn't hero worship Montague, which is a big plus in my book."

It was a big plus in my book too, but I still couldn't get over the shock of my sister dating. "Just because he's not awful doesn't mean you should date him…"

Astoria pointed her feathered quill at me. "And just because my parents are divorced doesn't mean I shouldn't date him."

I could see Hoben nodding in agreement as he stirred the saucepan. The old house elf was the worst gossip, but I trusted him not to pass any secrets on to Dad.

"That's got nothing to do with it," I muttered.

"Sure it doesn't."

"I don't want to end up alone," I said. "Or with a long list of meaningless boyfriends…"

Astoria rolled her eyes. "And that's got nothing to do with our parents, right, Daph?"

"You shouldn't let fear stop you, Miss Daphne," said Hoben, unable to resist throwing his own two sickles into the conversation. "Your parents may not have had the happy ending they wanted, but your father always says his daughters are the best things to happen in his life."

A warm glow formed in my chest, but then, I buried my face in my hands and groaned. "I'm getting dating advice from a house elf."

Hoben shook his head at me. "I've lived a lot longer than you, Miss Daphne."

Astoria grinned. "Listen to the wise elf, Daph. Give dating a shot."

They were determined to team up against me, it seemed. I stuck my tongue out at my sister before deciding the best thing to do was ignore the both of them and focus on my next letter.

* * *

21 December, 1995

To my dark and mysterious Nott,

How was your Christmas? How's your family? Mine's a load of shite as always. Astoria's talking about her new boyfriend (the Harper kid who stood up to Montague, remember him?), Mum hasn't written to us yet (not that I'm surprised), Dad's too busy at the Ministry to spend any time at home (that isn't his fault this time, though), and Hoben is trying to give me life advice (and he's probably right).

Have you been keeping up with the papers? Did you read about the attack on the Ministry employee? Did you know that the attack was in the Department of Mysteries, the victim was Arthur Weasley, and the perpetrator was a snake? Actually, I bet you did. I was bragging to Blaise about how I would know something you didn't because my Dad's an Unspeakable, but as I'm writing this, I'm realizing that somehow you know already and you probably know more than me. It's not fair! I want to be the knowledgeable one for once. Ah well, at least I know I can always be depended on for having an opinion.

My theory is that Arthur Weasley is working for Dumbledore, and Dumbledore doesn't trust the Ministry, so he's using Arthur Weasley as an infiltrator of some sort. There must be something in the Department of Mysteries that Dumbledore wants. I don't know what though. My dad's job description is Unspeakable for a reason, so unlike a certain blond ferret, my dad doesn't share all the details of his job with me. But what do you think? Am I on the right track?

Also, I want you to know that I've been practicing saying "muggleborn" instead of "mudblood". Astoria thinks it's weird that I keep bringing up muggleborns in conversation, but the only way to change habits is to practice over and over again. That being said, I don't know if I can ever change my habit of calling You-Know-Who "the Dark Lord", just because I think the "the Dark Lord" is so funny. And besides, I don't know which is more ego-inflating, people calling him "You-Know-Who" or people calling him "the Dark Lord". Really, the most disrespectful thing is to call him Voldemort, but then people will get bloody strange on me. I suppose I could always settle for "King of all that is Dark and Evil" in the most sarcastic tone possible.

I got off topic again. Astoria always complains when I do that. Anyways, I wanted you to know that I'm working hard, and 1996 will have a new and improved Daphne. Daphne V. 2, or whatever you want to call it.

I also want to say thank you for telling me about how contradicting I was being. I know I told you this before when you were apologizing and all that, but you know, I wanted to say it again. My dad once told me that only people who care about you tell your flaws, so thank you. Hippogriff shite. I'm getting embarrassed writing this. Astoria and Hoben are giving me weird looks. I just want you to know I'm grateful and now let's never talk about this again, okay?

Love you, let's be friends forever,

Daph

P.S. Don't forget. You promised me a long letter. Long.

* * *

My letters to Tracey and Pansy had to be put on hold while I waited for Isolde and the family owl to return. In the meantime, Dad managed a few days off work to spend time at home. Astoria and I never voiced our relief, but in the shared glances, I knew we were both happy to have him back.

Dad did, however, spend each morning visiting St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He told us the news over dinner one night—that Broderick Bode had been in an accident. Bode was one of our dad's few close friends. They both worked in the Department of Mysteries, which explained why they were friends and why they were both divorced. But unlike Dad, Bode had no children from the marriage. I had only met Bode on a handful of occasions, but each time he'd been nice, if not a little awkward, towards Astoria and me. Dad had refused to report to us all the details of the Bode's accident, but he did say that the incident was related to the Department.

It crossed my mind that there was something odd about Arthur Weasley being attacked in the Department of Mysteries and, at the same time, an Unspeakable ending up in the Spell Damage ward of St. Mungo's. However, dark shadows had formed under Dad's eyes as the danger to his friend weighed heavily on him, and I was too concerned with my dad's own well-being to dwell on what might be the connection between the two incidents. Instead, Astoria and I dedicated ourselves to helping our Dad forget about work—at least for the small amount of time that he was home.

Two days before Christmas, Hoben baked us some gingerbread biscuits, Astoria and I had cut them into shapes, and we spent the afternoon decorating them. The four of us stood around the kitchen island (or in Hoben's case sat on a stool) surrounded by stacks of cookies, bowls of icing, and bags of gumdrops. The last time we decorated gingerbread biscuits, our parents had still been married. Thankfully, Astoria and I had moved past crying over every poorly decorated biscuit, and now we started trash talking each other's artistic choices.

"Please," I said, looking down at Astoria's green and red frosted hinkypunk biscuit. "Even Filch's cat could apply frosting more evenly than that."

She scowled at my hippogriff coated in yellow icing and scoffed. "And Crabbe and Goyle could do better than your attempt at art."

"I'll have you know Crabbe is quite the artist," I said. "He does the art for most of Pansy's Quidditch posters."

Dad shook his head at us. His own hippogriff biscuit was a mess of green and brown gumdrops so that it barely looked like a hippogriff any more. Astoria and I had inherited our horrible decorating skills from him. Our mother was the one with talent, but I hadn't made gingerbread biscuits with her since I was six.

"What happened to the cat shape?" asked Dad as he examined the pile of biscuits yet to be frosted. There were dragons, pixies, hinkypunks, phoenixes, owls, and hippogriffs, but no cats to be seen.

"We decided not to use it," said Astoria.

"It reminded us too much of a certain pink professor," I said darkly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hoben smirk. Over our games of Exploding Snap, he'd heard countless long rants about our terrible Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Dad opened his mouth to ask more, but at that moment there came a knocking sound at the kitchen window. Astoria and I turned eagerly, hoping one of our letters had been returned, but instead, a small, brown owl we didn't recognize was perched on the windowsill. The haunted shadow had returned to Dad's eyes as he opened the glass to let the owl inside. As soon as the letter was removed from its leg, the bird flew away. Astoria and I watched as Dad slowly opened the envelope. He skimmed the contents before letting out a long sigh.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Is it about Mister Broderick?" asked Astoria.

Dad glanced at both of us and then nodded. "The Ministry's top aurors are investigating the matter, but so far there has been no luck."

Silence descended as we decorated the last of the biscuits. It took Dad a long time to move back to the kitchen table. He read the letter again and again before folding it neatly in half and slipping it into his pocket. Astoria coated the remaining biscuits with white frosting and red gumdrops, not even bothering to add even a little creativity, while I spread and respread icing over the same gingerbread hinkypunk.

Why did they need aurors to investigate an accident in the Department of Mysteries? The Ministry was extremely cautious as to who they allowed into the Department. Usually only Unspeakables dealt with accidents there, and select aurors were brought in only if the Dark Arts were involved. Were the Dark Arts involved with Bode's accident? My gaze drifted over to my dad, who wore a frown as he placed gumdrops on a phoenix biscuit. Was the accident really an accident?

"I believe I have won," said Hoben, interrupting my train of thought.

The three of us turned to stare at the elf and the piles of biscuits surrounding him. All of the biscuits were decorated with detail, down to the claws on the dragons and the flaming feathers on the phoenixes. They were masterpieces compared to the colorful mess we'd made of our gingerbread biscuits.

* * *

24 December, 1995

To my adorable Tracey,

Merry (almost) Christmas! I hope Isolde is stealthy delivering this, so your muggle family doesn't see. A muggle holiday must be so interesting! What do you do in your free time? Do they have games? Are their games any fun without magic? And how do you even get to your grandparents' house? You can't you floo powder, can you? Doesn't the Ministry disconnect all muggle fireplaces from the floo network? Tell me everything!

Speaking of the Ministry, I have some gossip for you. The _Daily Prophet_ reported that there was an attack on a Ministry employee, but what the _Prophet_ didn't say was that the employee was Arthur Weasley, he was in the Department of Mysteries, and he was attacked by a snake. If this was at Hogwarts, everyone would be up and arms against Slytherin (the presence of a snake automatically means we're guilty). But I like to think that the lack of accusations against our house means that once you leave Hogwarts no one bloody cares whether you were in Slytherin or Gryffindor.

Also, I've got to ask you something. It's been eating me up since before the end-of-term, and Astoria hasn't really helped matters, but I can't find an answer myself. And you're really the only one I could ask about this. You're the best for a reason, you know. And now I'm just writing random shite down because I don't want to start talking about the real issue. I can't keep avoiding this, so here goes:

Say there's this bloke. And he fancies me. Or I think he fancies me. He hasn't asked me out or anything like that, but I'm not thick, and I do know that if my friends laugh whenever I talk to him, it means he most likely fancies me. And I think he's a nice bloke who I really would like to get to know, don't get me wrong, but I don't think I fancy him back. Maybe I could. But you know I'd be shite at dating. It'd end up a disaster, and I think too well of him to put him through that mess. What the bloody hell do I do? Tracey, save me! Blaise thinks fancying people is stupid, Nott wouldn't know romance even if it hit him with bludger, and Pansy's idea of romance is stalking Draco (though she's says she's going to try getting over him in 1996 if you can believe it). You're the only one with common sense when it comes to these things!

Your friend-in-desperate-need,

Daph

* * *

24 December, 1995

To my awesome Pansy,

Merry Christmas Eve! And don't worry, I'm sticking to my diet. I only broke it today, and that's because Dad bought us treacle tart for pudding, and you know how much I love treacle tart.

How is Italy? I've always wanted to go. Where in Italy are you? Have you been to Rome yet? Dad went there once and he brought me back a book recording the studies one arithmancer made of the Vatican. Fascinating stuff. The angles used in certain rooms of the Vatican were specifically designed to repel magic. The arithmancer thought it had to do with the Catholic Church's extreme fear of the Devil and witchcraft (two things they associated together for some reason), but they had the knowledge to know that certain angles— And I'm rambling again. I know you don't care about arithmancy, especially arithmancy applied to historical architecture, but you know…it's just so interesting!

Feel free to ramble to me about wizarding laws and how you plan to reform them to improve our entire society. Tracey and I are waiting for you to take over the wizarding world someday. We want you to know that we've supported you all the way, and you should reward us when you come into your power. Preferably with big fat promotions.

We're going to the Greengrass Manor at the beginning of the new year as always. Dad is coming with us this time, which hasn't happened since the divorce. I'm sure Grandmother will be thrilled. She always complains that her only son never visits her. Not that I blame Dad. Visiting the family manor once a year is more than enough for me. I'm just glad Mum likes visiting her family manor even less than Dad does. If I had to see the Rowle family as well as the Greengrass family over the holidays, I might faint from the extreme pureblood-elitism of it all.

Anyway, Astoria is yelling at me about the garden. Apparently, the gnomes are invading again, and Dad's at work so we can't magic them away. I guess it's time for the Last Great Gnome Eradication of 1995. Wish me luck.

Have fun on your holiday!

Daph

* * *

A letter from our mum arrived on Christmas morning along with our gifts from her. Dad had left the letter and parcels on the kitchen table for us along with the tea and waffles Hoben had prepared for breakfast. Dad sat at the head of the table, still dressed in his blue plaid pajamas. His brown hair was mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it all morning. However, despite his exhaustion, my dad smiled when I entered the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, Daphne."

I smiled back as I took the seat opposite him. "Merry Christmas." I glanced to my left and said, "Merry Christmas to you too, Hoben."

The elf beamed at me as he brought the last plate of waffles to the table. "Merry Christmas, Miss Daphne."

"Elizabeth's gifts are here," said Dad, gesturing to the two parcels perfectly wrapped in colorful paper.

I stared at them for moment and then sat down in the chair next to Dad. "I'll wait until Astoria's here."

Dad nodded. He knew our mum better than we did. He knew what she was like. He'd lived through years of her passive aggressive behavior before finally asking for a divorce. Dad took a sip of his tea and then asked, "Have you been writing to your friends?"

"Of course," I said.

"They're a good group." Dad had met Tracey when she'd come to stay with us for a week in the summer before our second year, and I'd introduced him to Blaise once when he'd picked Astoria and me up from the train station. I'd also told him plenty of stories about Pansy and Nott. I'd even told him about Nott wanting to be an auror. Dad hadn't said so aloud, but I think he was a little impressed by Nott. Dad understood the pressures of family.

"They are," I said with a smile. Mum's letter and presents disappeared from my mind as I spoke. "I mean, they have their faults of course. Pansy can be a stuck-up elitist pureblood, and she really needs to get over Draco, but she's always there for her friends Blaise is secretly a spoiled brat even though he tries to hide it, and Nott, well, Nott's learning how to stop pretending. And Tracey can be really petty—she once put a shrinking solution in Cassius Warrington's underwear because he said her blood was half mud." I smiled at the memory of Warrington running through the common room screeching. Rumor has it that when Madam Pomfrey had to charm Cassius's prick back to normal size, he'd asked for it to be bigger than it was before, and she'd flat out refused.

"It reminds me of this one time," said Dad. "My friend, Iain Travers…" He trailed off slightly, his forehead wrinkling as a frown started to form.

Whatever thought he'd had, it was interrupted by the arrival of Astoria. Still in her red pajamas and her light brown hair sticking out at odd angles, she plopped herself down in the chair opposite me and helped herself to waffles.

"Mum's Christmas presents arrived today," I said.

Astoria, her eyes still slightly swollen from sleep, looked up at me and then down the table at the letter and gifts. She wrinkled her nose and then returned to eating her waffles in silence.

"That's what I said as well," I muttered.

We left Mum's letter and gifts until after we'd enjoyed breakfast and conversation. Dad and I got into a debate over the reliability of Arithmancy in detecting the Dark Arts, while Astoria rolled her eyes and talked to Hoben about how the Lancashire Quidditch team was doing that season.

As the waffles disappeared and breakfast came to an end, the pinprick of dread that I'd felt when I first came downstairs grew into a suffocating weight in my chest. I glanced across the table at Astoria, but she seemed cool and collected as she discussed Potions class with Dad. I wished I could feel as calm about this as Astoria did, but Mum had never liked sharing us with Dad. A week in Liverpool during the winter holidays and two weeks over the summer, she accepted. However, if we ever chose to spend more time with Dad, our mum threw a fit.

Once the last waffle was gone, Dad went to the study to do some work, while Astoria and I helped Hoben with the dishes. He thanked us for washing and drying even though he knew that we were only avoiding the letter. Once the dishes were done and Hoben left to do some other chres, there was no escaping for Astoria and me.

"You want to open it?" I asked.

Astoria shot me a glare. "Coward."

Well, I wasn't a Gryffindor for a reason.

However, I was the older sister. I didn't act like one much—I often left Astoria to deal with Mum and Dad—but this time, I could be the one who opened the letter. After taking a deep breath, I took the envelope from the table and carefully broke the seal. I tried to appear relaxed as I read over the contents of the letter, but my head was pounding. I'd received one too many angry letters from our mum in the past—calling us "ungrateful" and "selfish"—to be comfortable. However, this time her words were only kind. She told us how she and her boyfriend had decided to spend the holidays together and that she was busy planning and designing the wedding for a Bulstrode and a Carrow.

"What'd she say?" asked Astoria.

I glanced up from the letter. My sister watched me with wide eyes, the nervousness I'd felt was written plainly on her face.

Lifting my head, I offered a smile to my little sister. "She wishes us a 'Merry Christmas', and she hopes we have a good time with Dad."

Astoria frowned. "Let me see that."

I handed her the letter, and she skimmed over the contents. "Well," she said, "what do you know."

"She seems excited about the wedding."

"The Sacred Twenty-Eight always have extravagant weddings," said Astoria. "You know she likes to be flashy."

I nodded. We stood there for a moment, sharing the relief. Our mum wasn't mad at us. She even seemed to be having a good time with her boyfriend. That was good. Really good. I only hoped she could stay this happy forever.

* * *

26 December, 1995

Daph,

How many times must I tell you to stop referring to me as "dark and mysterious"? You said it once in front of Millicent, and she started giggling. We will not remain "friends forever" if you keep encouraging her.

As for my family, well, they're my family. I hate myself when I'm around them. Once again, discussions of my future have come up, and once again, I have given noncommittal responses. Sometimes—and you will burn this letter after you receive it and never repeat these words—I wish I was in Gryffindor. Maybe then I would be stupid enough to tell my parents what I wanted to do with my life.

I am sorry about your mum.

Yes, I read about the attack on a Ministry employee, and yes, I knew who it was and where it took place. You get no prizes for guessing how I learned all this. What I do know, that you do not, is that whatever's inside the Department of Mysteries is not something Dumbledore wants but rather something the "King of all that is Dark and Evil" wants. I don't know what it is exactly, my sources are very careful around me when it comes to that subject, and it's lucky I managed to learn what I did.

I do think you are on the right path when you say that Dumbledore doesn't trust the Ministry. I don't trust the Ministry after everything I've seen Umbridge do at Hogwarts and will be happy when the Fudge Administration comes to an end. Of course, the next elected Minister could be far, far worse. Which would you prefer: a minister who insists on ignorance and sits back as the Dark Lord rises to power, or a minister who takes action and aids the Dark Lord's rise to power? My instinct is to say the former is better, but I think they're both equally deadly.

I've also been working on saying "muggleborn" instead of "mudblood", but it's rather difficult to do in my house. You have a good sister, even if you complain about her a lot.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,

Theo Nott

P.S. Was this long enough for you?

* * *

Almost all the Sacred Twenty-Eight families have manors located in Britain. Some of them, like the Abbott and Weasley homes, had been lost over the centuries due to wizarding wars or poor estate planning, but most of the manors were still intact. I knew the Nott Manor was hidden in Dorset, and the Parkinson Manor rested in Herefordshire. The Greengrass family home happened to be located in the rolling hills of the Yorkshire Dales.

We spent the first few days of the new year in the Greengrass Manor, something Astoria and I had done every January since we were born. The members of Greengrass family—the ones that were still in favor with Grandmother Dahlia—gathered there at the beginning of every year.

Usually, because Dad was away on work, Astoria and I traveled by floo powder to visit. We would stumble out of the fireplace in the grand parlor, trying to look presentable enough to please our grandmother. We never succeeded. However, this year, Dad took us there using side-along apparition. The three of us appeared in the neatly trimmed garden outside the manor, a gray sky looming overhead.

With granite walls and black framed windows, the Greengrass Manor was not an attractive home. Cold light always flickered from behind the floor-to-ceiling windows on the first floor. The south wall was covered from roof to garden in thick ivy—which was rumored to strangle anyone not of Greengrass blood who tried to enter the house without permission. Astoria and I had never tested this theory, so we had to take Cousin Alastair's word for it.

Grandmother's ancient house elf, Widge, greeted us when we arrived, and another house elf, Cob, led us to the parlor where our extensive family had gathered. The curtains, couches, tables, chairs, and mantle of the parlor were all decorated in the shades of green and gray that had long been associated with the Greengrass name. A portrait of Lobelia of the Green Grass Hills, the great matriarch of our family, hung over the fireplace. She looked regal in a light gray evening gown, her hair pinned up in an elegant bun and green jewels adorning her throat. Lobelia's hazel eyes, light brown hair, and stubborn chin were reflected in the people seated in the parlor. Impurities—such as Cousin Alastair's blue Selwyn eyes and my Rowle blonde hair—existed, but the traits of Lobelia still existed in the family.

"Aster." Grandmother Dahlia's voice filled the room as she greeted us from her seat on a dark gray armchair. "How many years has it been since you attended a family gathering, my boy?"

Dad thanked Cob for showing us to the parlor before answering his mother: "Three, I believe."

"I do think it was longer than that," said Grandmother.

"I attended one of your summer tea parties for the Society of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Dad reminded her.

"So you did," said Grandmother. She had a fond smile for her only son. Then, she turned to my sister and me. "Is school going well, Daphne?"

"Yes," I said. "I'll be taking my OWLs this year."

"I expect only top grades from you," said Grandmother. "I always tell Aster that you could have been a Ravenclaw."

I managed a small smile for Grandmother and decided not to tell her that if I weren't a Slytherin, I would've wanted to be a Hufflepuff.

"And Astoria," said Grandmother. The look in her eyes was decidedly less warm than it had been for Dad and me. "How is Hogwarts for you?"

"Good," said Astoria. Her voice was little more than a squeak.

Grandmother nodded once before returning to her conversation with Uncle Dianthus. A wave of relief passed through Astoria and me. We'd survived our grandmother's initial greeting. And this time, she hadn't even demanded that we go change into something more suitable. Perhaps it was a sign that we were growing up in her eyes.

As much as my sister and I would've liked to retreat to a corner, we, unfortunately, were obliged to greet the rest of the family. It seemed as though every one of our five nosy aunts, four ignorant uncles, two snobbish great aunts, two arrogant great uncles, four obnoxious cousins, and one bull of a grandmother had benign questions that we needed to answer.

This assessment was slightly unfair, because Astoria and I actually liked some of our relatives. Uncle Lisianthus and his late wife, Maira, had fought in the First Wizarding War against Voldemort until Aunt Maira's death in 1982. I didn't know all the details, but after her passing Lisianthus retired from the Ministry and now worked with some activist group, supporting goblins' rights. Astoria and I had long agreed that Uncle Lisianthus didn't fit in with the rest of the aristocratic family. Of course, he had the botanical name that the Greengrass family insisted on giving their children, but that was all. Rumor had it that Uncle Lisianthus had been a Gryffindor in school. However, Astoria and I enjoyed his presence, so we didn't question why he still attended family functions. Unfortunately, Aunt Tabitha Bainbridge (who was actually only two years ahead of me at Hogwarts and wanted a job at Gringotts when she graduated) had cornered our uncle to ask him about goblins.

We also liked Aunt Ianthe, who worked as a healer for Puddlemere United. She sometimes got us tickets for professional matches, and she and her girlfriend, a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, would take us out to dinner beforehand. We would have talked to her, but she was chatting with her sister-in-law Aunt Ariadne and playing with her infant nephew, Cypress. Astoria and I had a silent agreement to avoid our snot-nosed cousin as much as possible during our visit.

In the end, we were forced to talk to the relatives that we liked significantly less. We reminded Great Uncle Balsam which years we were in at Hogwarts, told Aunt Begonia what we wanted to do with ourselves after we finished school, and recounted to Cousin Alastair the new hexes students were using on each other in the hallways now.

It wasn't that our relatives were particularly awful. As far as I knew, none of them were Death Eaters, and most of them considered the Dark Lord to be an extremist. However, the Greengrass family tended to suffer from a severe case of elitist-sticks-up-their-arseholes syndrome. Some people, like our father, Uncle Lisianthus, and Aunt Ianthe had managed to survive their upbringing and behave like normal people, but some of our other relatives retained their snobbish attitudes. Aunt Begonia was treated as a second-class family member because she'd married Edmund Vaisey, a man with no recognizable pureblood lineage, and Aunt Ianthe was looked upon as the "bad example" because she was almost forty and still unmarried. Aunt Amaryllis, who married a Selwyn, was Grandmother's clear favorite, and little snot-nosed Cypress, the only male cousin with the Greengrass name, was the heir to the manor.

I often wondered if all pureblood families were like this. Of course, if my classmates at Hogwarts were anything to judge by, most Sacred Twenty-Eight were insufferable. The Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Flints, the Bulstrodes, the Carrows, and the Notts all carried on the male-heir and pureblood intermarriage traditions, and some of them were even more extreme than the Greengrass family, believing it was the pureblood way or no way.

There were some families who were at least moving away from the belief that muggles were lesser beings—the Abbotts, the Macmillans, and the Weasleys being some examples. The Greengrass family didn't belong in the same category as the Abbotts and the Macmillans, but we certainly didn't fall into the same category as the Malfoys and the Notts. We were the middle ground. Traditional but not backwards. Strict but not oppressive. Tolerant but not generous. We could be worse, as Astoria and I liked to tell ourselves.

* * *

1 January, 1996

Daphne,

Don't lie to me. I know you haven't paid a second's attention to your diet while on holiday. You barely pay attention to the diet while we're at school. You think I don't see you stealing carbs off Blaise's plate? That prat is the worst enabler.

Italy is great, by the way. The architecture is beautiful (including the magic-repelling angles). The weather is lovely. The blokes are all fit. I wish you lot could be here. It'd be a million times more enjoyable if my friends were here instead of my parents. I love my parents, of course, and I want to have a relationship just like theirs one day, but they are the sappiest people I've ever met and I'm embarrassed to be seen with them. If I didn't know any better, I'd have no idea they were barristers who'd helped put some of You-Know-Who's worst followers in Azkaban. When on holiday, they're on the level of the loon who writes _The Quibbler_. Merlin, I miss you lot.

Visiting the family manors isn't as bad as you make it sound. Great Uncle Crius always hosts our family gathering before Christmas, so I attended ours before we departed for Italy. Of course, we have it easy because his grandson Linus is obviously the heir. Doesn't your Grandmother want your Dad to remarry so he can have a son? She doesn't want her cousin's grandchild to inherit. Family politics can get so complicated when the inheritor of the estate isn't obvious. Oh well, enjoy your stay. I know you like nerding out with your uncle over the Gobin Wars.

Also, you'll be proud to know that I thought about writing a letter to Draco over the holidays, but when I wrote to Tracey, she talked me out of it. Pansy of 1996 does not have a crush on Draco. In fact, she thinks Roger Davies is quite fit. Your sister is going to have some competition for her bloke. Give her a heads up for me.

Miss you, love you, see you soon,

Pansy

* * *

2 January, 1996

To my always dramatic Daphne,

Happy New Year! Isolde was clever and didn't come until after we'd left my grandparents' house. Christmas with them was great! My grandma bought me an entirely new wardrobe of muggle clothing, and my grandpa bought me a book on animal biology. He knows me so well. It's interesting to learn about creatures from the magical perspective and then read about them from the muggle medical perspective. Not that you would know, since you take boring old Arithmancy instead of Care of Magical Creatures like a normal witch.

And to answer your questions: In our free time, we watch the telly (a box that has moving pictures which tell stories), we go ice skating (like we do at Hogwarts—only muggles don't cast spells at each other while skating), and we play games like chess (but the pieces don't destroy each other, you just take them off the board). Also, we get to my grandparents' house by driving like muggles. My mother has a driver's license and owns a car. It's a scary thing to ride in, and if you get into an accident in it, there's a high chance you'll die. 0/10 don't recommend.

The whole Ministry thing is crazy. My dad was talking about it a bit. He said they cleared everything up and it was largely a misunderstanding. Of course, he works in the sporting department and has no idea what's going on, really. I suppose you have some theory about why Arthur Weasley was in the Department of Mysteries that has nothing to do with a "misunderstanding". You'll have to tell me all about it when we get back. You know how much I love earning money.

As for this boy who fancies you, I think you should try going out on a date with Adrian Pucey. I mean, sometimes it takes a date for you to start fancying someone. And a date isn't a long-term commitment—it's one date! Pucey seems like a nice bloke, not at all the sort to take it personally if you're not into him afterwards (unlike some blokes I know). Though, I have to admit, I always thought Blaise would be the one to get you to wake up from your I-don't-date mantra. Oh well, I've been known to be wrong every once in a while. Give it a shot! I think you'll really like Pucey.

And I completely understand you not wanting to talk to the others about Pucey. I once tried to talk to Nott about Natasha (you remember her, the Durmstrang girl), and the way he looked at me, you would've thought I turned into one of those Blast-Ended Skrewts. "What would I know about that?" he asked me. That idiot. Blaise understands dating and relationships about as well as you do, and don't even get me started on Pansy. Good luck to her on getting over Draco. All I can say is—it's about bloody time!

Love you, see you at school,

Tracey

* * *

2 January, 1996

To my bright and cheery and not-mysterious-at-all Nott,

Since you won't let me call you "dark and mysterious" anymore, I have to find new ways of describing you. Somehow "bright and cheery" doesn't feel right. Maybe I should try "pigheaded and prat-ish" next, what do you think?

I knew you were going to have more information than me! I just knew it! But it's certainly interesting that the Dark Lord wants something in the Department of Mysteries. Then, do you think that Dumbledore is trying to prevent the Dark Lord from getting whatever it is? That would make sense. After all Dumbledore doesn't trust the Fudge Administration to do anything right. And let's be honest, I don't either.

Tracey mentioned this to me in her letter and judging by my dad actually being home for New Years, it seems as though the whole Arthur Weasley in the Department of Mysteries fiasco was suddenly cleared up. My bet is someone threw at lot of weight around and maybe cast a few charms to get Weasley away scot free. Apparently, it was a misunderstanding that caused him to be there and not because of some secret movement by Dumbledore. I'm calling a load of Hippogriff shite on this "misunderstanding". I think Dumbledore pulled some influence in the Ministry to get Arthur Weasley off without charges. It can't be anyone else. If we listen to Draco's talk, Arthur Weasley doesn't have that many high up connections except through Dumbledore.

Also, I'm sorry you're having a hard time with your family. You know I'm always here for you, and always ready to listen to complaints about situations at home. I'm at the Greengrass Manor right now, and my relatives are a constant reminder that I'm descended from pureblood snobs just like Draco and Pansy. We'll be back at Hogwarts soon, and you can go back to being the regular-good-boy-probably-should've-been-in-Gryffindor Nott we all know and love.

I miss your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, by the way. Whenever I spend too much time at home, not doing magic, I think I forget everything I learned over the year. You might have to re-teach my everything at this rate! And I know that statement will give you nightmares to hold you over until we go back to school.

See you soon, my pigheaded and prat-ish Nott!

Lots of love,

Daph

P.S. Tracey's letter was half a piece of parchment longer than yours. You'd better get it together, Nott.

* * *

As much as spending time with the Greengrass family exhausted my sister and me, it was usually tolerable. The relatives we did like usually made up for the relatives we didn't. For every minute that I had to spend listening to Edmund Vaisey shower my grandmother in excessive compliments, I got to spend discussing different theses on the Goblin Rebellions with Uncle Lisianthus. And even though she had to tolerate Aunt Tabitha's older-than-thou attitude, Astoria could also have a three-hour long conversation with Aunt Ianthe about her job as a healer. Even Dad, who had to endure his mother's lectures about visiting home more often, managed to find enjoyment in listening to Great Uncle Balsam ramble about his days at Hogwarts. Overall, I think we were all glad we spend time at the family manor.

At least, we felt like that until the last day. During our last meal with the Greengrass family, the balance of what was tolerable was lost, and I found myself immensely grateful that we were returning to Liverpool the next morning.

The grand dining hall had been set for twenty. Grandmother Dahlia was placed at the head of the table with her beloved daughter, Aunt Amaryllis, on her left and her least favorite sister, Great Aunt Wisteria, at the opposite end. As always, the seat on Grandmother's right was left empty in remembrance of Grandfather Adair. The Bainbridges and the Vaiseys were crowded together at the far end of the table with the knowledge of just where they stood with Grandmother hovering over them. Aunt Amaryllis, her husband Uncle Julius Selwyn, and Cousin Alastair sat close to grandmother. The heir apparent, little Cypress, was in the nursery being cared for by one of the house elves. Dad, Astoria, and I found ourselves seated comfortably in the middle of the table, which in my opinion was the best arrangement possible.

The beginning half of our five-course meal consisted of idle chatter. Dad, Astoria, and Aunt Ianthe discussed how the Holyhead Harpies had flattened Lancashire last week. Uncle Julius caught Uncle Lisianthus up on Ministry gossip. Great Aunt Eva question Rosemary on how her first year at Hogwarts was going. When she asked if Rosemary's cousins were helping her figure things out, I suddenly needed to stuff my face with roasted potatoes. I realized the dish was actually rosemary roasted potatoes, and for some reason, I felt even more guilty.

"Have you any thought on Gabriel Rosier's platform?" Even though, Aunt Amaryllis was seated near the end of the table, her loud voice carried all the way down to the Bainbridges. My uncles' conversation stuttered to a halt as they turned to hear Grandmother's response.

I knew the name Rosier was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but I had no idea what Aunt Amaryllis meant by "platform". By the narrowing of Grandmother's hazel eyes, however, I could tell the platform was nothing good.

"A load of hogwash," said Grandmother. "Always has been, always will be."

"But surely you agree with some of his points," said Aunt Amaryllis. Her husband nodded in agreement.

I glanced across the table at Astoria, wondering if she knew any more than I did, but her face was pinched as she tried to decipher what was being said. Dad shifted from side to side in his seat, pretending to be more interested in his pudding than the conversation going on around him.

Grandmother sniffed. "Anyone who begins his speech with 'the Dark Lord was not entirely wrong…' does not deserve to be chairman of any society, let alone one trying to uphold the ancient traditions of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

And all at once the truth came crashing down around me. The Dark Lord. My family was discussing Voldemort.

I'd always thought the Greengrass family was firmly against the genocidal maniac, but from what I could gather from the conversation around me, some of my relatives might actually support him.

The realization hit me like a knock-back spell. For a moment, I could barely form a complete thought. My family? Mine? The venerable house of Greengrass? Descended from the great Lobelia of the Green Grass Hills who had famously been friends with Helga Hufflepuff? This family? Voicing support for the Dark Lord? My head was spinning with a sense of outrage and betrayal. Heat spread through my body and my hand curled into a fist around the silver fork I held.

I used to be proud to say that the Greengrass family were, in general, not muggle-hating Dark Lord-supporting arseholes—even though most of my relatives were still arrogant elitists who thought of muggles as some lesser species that should be kept as far from the magical world as possible. But still, at least the Greengrass name couldn't be found among any of the Death Eaters.

But now… Now I wasn't so sure. What if one of the cousins had secretly joined? What if underneath the sleeve of their robe an inked skull and serpent dwelled? Perhaps it went back further. What if my aunt had supported the Dark Lord during the First Wizarding War? What if she hadn't been caught and so she simply kept her secret all these years? What didn't I know about my family? What secrets had been kept hidden from me?

"Of course, the Dark Lord wasn't entirely right," said Aunt Amaryllis, interrupting my thoughts. "His methods leave much to be desired—"

"Countless witches and wizards died," said Grandmother flatly.

"I know, Mother," snapped Aunt Amaryllis. "They were my friends, my classmates, my professors. They were Aster's as well."

Dad twitched at the mention of his name. Astoria and I turned to look at him. Our dad never talked about his experiences during the Dark Lord's first rise to power. He and our mum had lived through it, but the only thing I'd ever heard them say was some variation of "It was a dark time, Daphne," before swiftly changing the subject.

"And do you want to watch it happen again?" asked Grandmother. "Do you want to put your children through the same thing?"

Aunt Amaryllis glanced across the table at Cousin Alastair. The look was so fleeting that I would have missed it if I hadn't been staring at her. Then, I watched as her eyes drifted down the table to where Uncle Lisianthus sat. If anyone had something to say on the horrors of the First Wizarding War, it was him. After all, his wife had been murdered barely a year into their marriage. Not even pureblooded Slytherins were wholly safe from the Dark Lord if they opposed him.

"Gabriel Rosier is an idiot," said Uncle Lisianthus, "who never stepped out of the shadow of his younger brother. Regis Burke the Younger is the best choice for chairman. Rosier knows it, and his vocal support of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a last ditch effort to gain some votes."

"He will certainly have Lucius Malfoy's vote," said Great Uncle Benjamin from the far end of the table. "And you know how many votes come with Lucius Malfoy's."

I scowled at the reminder of a name I hated. There was, regrettably, some truth to all of Draco's bragging about his father's influence.

"Are we really going to make You-Know-Who's second rise to power so easy?" asked Ianthe.

An unnerving silence settled at the table. Aunt Amaryllis and Uncle Julius exchanged silent glances. Great Aunt Wisteria glowered down the table at Aunt Ianthe, who was determinedly ignoring her. Dad looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else, and I think Astoria was trying to disappear into her chair. Aunt Ariadne suddenly said, "I should check on little Cypress," and excused herself. The door slammed shut behind her, and the silence that had been cast over the table disappeared.

"Daphne!" barked Grandmother. Her loud voice caused Aunt Begonia to jump in her seat.

I winced as I turned to look down the table. Of all Lobelia's descendants, I thought Grandmother Dahlia resembled her the most. Though Grandmother's dark hair was now gray and her oval face wrinkled, she had the same sharp eyes and proud nose. In her mint green evening gown, Grandmother looked every bit as regal as the founder of our family.

"Yes, Grandmother?" I asked, hoping my voice came out stronger than I felt.

"What do you think of Rosier's platform?" asked Grandmother.

"I did not hear Rosier's platform," I said. My fingers fiddled with the hem of my shirt beneath the table.

"Were you not listening to a word we've said?" snapped Grandmother.

"I was listening, Grandmother. But I've only gathered bits and pieces. I don't want to share an opinion when I'm uniformed. I can tell you, however, that I believe the Dark Lord should be stopped at all costs."

Grandmother's eyes bored into me, weighing my answer. I stayed as still as possible and met her gaze as calmly as I could. The hierarchy of Grandmother's favorites would always be clear. Amaryllis was the dutiful daughter, yes, but our dad was the prodigal son. His absence during most family functions only made Grandmother miss him more.

Cousin Alastair would always be her favorite grandchild, of course. He was the perfect image of ambitious, pureblood wizard—but because he was Selwyn, he could not inherit the estate. I was her second favorite grandchild and had been ever since I was thirteen. I'd gotten into an argument with Grandmother over the family investments in artifacts that used dark magic, and instead of finding me impertinent, she decided I was a clever child.

"You should stay informed, Daphne," said Grandmother at last. "It would be a travesty for your generation to grow up ignorant of the world's happenings. Read up on the Society of Twenty-Eight's election, and then write to me on your views. I appreciate hearing them even if we disagree."

"Yes, Grandmother."

I could feel Cousin Alastair's glare even though I wasn't looking at him. A wave of smug pride passed through me. Grandmother cared enough about my opinions to ask me to write to her. Take that, cuz.

My smugness vanished almost instantly when Grandmother turned to address the least favorite of her three grandchildren. Astoria quailed under Grandmother's fierce stare. My sister was no coward, but for some reason, she could never face Grandmother properly, and Astoria spent most of her visits to the manor avoiding conversation between just the two of them. Of course, Grandmother hated this and viewed Astoria as weak.

"And what do you think of the Dark Lord, Astoria?" asked Grandmother.

"Well…" Astoria realized she was speaking too quietly. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Well, Fudge says that the Dark Lord's return is nothing more than a lie told by Dumbledore."

"You don't truly believe that, do you?" asked Grandmother. "My son didn't raise an idiot for a daughter.

Astoria paled and quickly shook her head. She shot me a pleading look across the table. I wished I could help her. I wasn't always the best big sister, but surely this was one area I could help Astoria with.

I struggled to think of something to say that wouldn't make it too obvious that I was trying to save Astoria, but before I could speak, Grandmother let out a loud sigh and said, "This is what we get for electing a minister named after a confectionery." She looked down the table at the family around her. She took each one of us with a swift, appraising glance until her eyes came to rest on her daughter. "Remember what it was like, Amaryllis. Remember the fear that gripped our hearts. Not just fear for muggles, but fear for other witches and wizards. Not just fear that someone you loved would be killed, but fear that someone you loved would be one of _them_."

My body stiffened at her words. A note of them rang true and echoed through my bones.

"A parent who raised you, a lover you hold dear, a sibling you thought you know, your best friend from school…" There was the slightest tremor to Grandmother's words. She quickly corrected herself and her voice returned to calm and commanding. "You think you know your friends and family, but the truth is that you never know. The ones who harbor darkness in their hearts… You only find out when they are too far from you, and you must turn your own wand on them." Her eyes narrowed as she stared at her daughter. "Do you want the world to relive that suffering? Do you wish such a fate on your children?"

"No, Mother."

"Then do not let Gabriel Rosier to win the election," said Grandmother. "Allowing one voice to prevail will only pave the way for others."

As always, Grandmother had the final word. No one dared respond to her, and the last two courses of the meal returned the family to meaningless chitchat. Though even as we talked of school and work, a shadow hung over the conversation. A sense of foreboding clung to me as I spoke. I tried to be my usual energetic self, but I couldn't bring myself to keep up the façade and I sunk into silence by the time dessert arrived.

 _Not just fear that someone you loved would be killed, but fear that someone you loved would be one of them_.

Tomorrow's departure couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

4 January, 1996

To my reticent Blaise,

I'm disappointed in you. You were the first one I wrote to, and everyone else responded before you. Did Isolde not get my letter to you? I know she's a bit of a daft owl, but she's never failed to make a delivery at all before. Though I do wonder: if I tried to send a message to the Dark Lord, would she'd fail to deliver that? Because the Dark Lord's supposed to be in hiding, but if owls can find him then why don't aurors just send him letters and follow the owls?

Off topic again. Astoria says I need to work on that, but I said she needs to work on not drooling when she looks at fit Quidditch players and she threatened to set the garden gnomes on me.

Write to me! I miss you!

Lots of love,

Daph

* * *

I didn't realize how much the visit to the manor had drained me until we returned to Liverpool. I slept for thirteen hours the next day, and when I came downstairs it was already past noon. Dad had left for the Department of Mysteries hours ago, and Astoria had gone to visit one of her friends who lived in London. She wouldn't floo back until late that night—which meant it was just Hoben and I.

The house elf was cleaning the breakfast dishes when I entered the kitchen. He stood on a wooden stool up to his elbows in soapy dishwater. His bulbous green eyes watched as I settled onto one of the barstools.

"Did you enjoy your beauty sleep?" he asked.

"I needed it."

"Mister Aster and Miss Astoria enjoyed omelets for breakfast." Hoben's goat cheese and prosciutto omelets were to die for. He must have made them to welcome us back from the manor. I felt a twinge of guilt for sleeping in. Hoben's cooking deserved to be properly appreciated.

"I'm sorry I missed your omelets," I said.

Hoben frowned. I knew he was taking in the crease between my brows and the slight downturn in my mouth. Hoben had cared for Astoria and I since our births, and he was good at knowing when we were upset. As he dried his hands with a dishtowel, he said, carefully, "I do not know your friend, but I am sorry for his loss."

My head jerked up at that. "What?" This was the first time I'd ever heard Hoben be off the mark with what was upsetting me. But my friend? What friend? What happened? Did I miss something?

Hoben's eyes widened. "Oh. Pardon, miss—I thought you were upset about something else."

"Hoben, what happened?"

"I should have known you would not have had a chance to see the _Prophet_ yet," said Hoben, shaking his head at his own mistake. He hopped off the wooden stool and made his way over to the kitchen table where my dad's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ had been left open.

I leapt off the barstool and snatched the paper out of Hoben's hands. It was open to a page about some stock falling dramatically. I couldn't care less about stocks. That was Blaise's thing. What friend? Was it Blaise? Was it Nott? Or Tracey? Or Pansy? What had happened?

 _Not just fear that someone you loved would be killed, but fear that someone you loved would be one of them_.

"Hoben? Where is it?" I asked, my voice higher pitched than usual as I flipped frantically through the pages. One of them tore when I turned it took quickly.

"I would have found it for you if you hadn't snatched it out of my hands," grumbled Hoben. He must have saw my expression, because he quickly changed his tone and said, in the gentlest voice possible, "It's on the front page."

I flipped the pages until I found the " _The Daily Prophet_ " across the top in big black letters. I skimmed the words below. "Masud Gamal, radical multi-millionaire businessman, passed away in St. Mungo's Hospital on December 24th, 1995…" The words were hollow as I read them. I knew the name even if I didn't know the man personally. I'd seen him once on Platform 9¾. He had a handsome hooked nose and curling black hair. Laugh lines had framed his dark eyes, and he looked at his step-son fondly even if they hadn't been close. "…Made famous for his practice of investing in muggle businesses… Gamal's will revealed that the Egyptian businessman left the majority of his vast fortune to his wife of less than two years, Letizia Zabini."

* * *

5 January, 1996

Blaise,

Oh Merlin, Hoben just showed me the _Daily Prophet_. I'm so sorry about your stepfather. He sounded like an all right bloke from everything you told me. I know you weren't close to him and all, but it still hurts to lose someone, and you know I'm here for you. It's all right if you don't want to write or talk about it. I'll see you at school.

Love you always,

Your best friend forever,

Daph

* * *

8 January, 1996

Daph,

I'm sorry that I couldn't reply sooner. I didn't respond to anyone's letters. Number Six was a decent bloke, but I never had more than a handful of conversations with him, so it's not as though I can grieve his passing. It seems to be heart failure that took him. We may be magical, but the same illnesses that take muggles take us as well—or at least that's what my mother said in her eulogy.

Number Six passed away on Christmas Eve, but my mother still insisted on opening presents the next day and celebrating my birthday the day after. I could see the house elf giving her a distrustful look, and I can't say I blame the elf. We did—finally—have a funeral for Number Six on New Years' Eve. It was a silent affair, and to be honest, I'm already counting the days before she brings Number Seven into our lives.

I'm ready for this holiday to be over. When we get back to school, I recommend we grab some food from the kitchens and find an empty classroom. I'll smuggle some firewhiskey in. We can catch up on our miserable home lives, and you can tell me your new theory in this war between Dumbledore and the Ministry.

I'll see you at the station on Sunday,

Blaise

P.S. We might have to open the firewhiskey on the Hogwarts Express.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a looooooong chapter. But first, we finally get some proper Daphne and Astoria bonding time! And second, we get the Department of Mysteries break in!
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! Seriously, y'all are great!


	12. The Death Eater In The Closet

**Chapter Twelve: The Death Eater In The Closet**

In the end, despite Blaise's wishes, we did not drink firewhiskey on the Hogwarts Express. Instead, we spent the train ride pouring over our textbooks and trying to finish the essays our professors had assigned over the holidays. The homework continued into the welcome-back feast where we weren't the only ones scrambling to finish. Almost all the students who had gone home over the holidays now had textbooks open at the dinner tables. I could see the professors looking down on us disapprovingly. Tracey copied Blaise's Transfiguration essay, while Blaise and Nott tried to translate our texts from Ancient Runes. Pansy kept checking her Herbology essay against mine (which was a terrible idea). I glanced down the Slytherin table and saw that Draco was helping Crabbe and Goyle through their Potions essays, and it seemed that Adrian and Montague had gotten over their fight, because they were comparing notes on their Charms homework.

Around dessert, my group had finished our homework, and we were finally able to relax. While we caught up on each other's holidays, Blaise was quieter than usual. We knew better than to bring up his step-father when Blaise clearly wasn't ready, so we let him be. Nott was also in a bit of a weird mood, but that was to be expected as well. Going home often took a toll on him. Us girls did most of the talking that night. We heard about Tracey's father trying to hide from her muggle grandparents that he used magic to make the Christmas turkey, about Pansy's parents acting as though they were on their honeymoon instead of a holiday with their daughter, and about Astoria's and my ongoing war with the garden gnomes. It wasn't the easiest night, but it was good to be surrounded by friends again.

The next morning, I awoke to Pansy standing at the edge of my bed, shrieking, "The winter Hogsmeade trip is on Valentine's Day this year!"

I opened one eye and then the other. Pansy was dressed and ready for the day: her dark hair pinned perfectly in place, her eyeshadow flawless, and her prefect's badge gleaming on her chest. Thankfully, when I glanced around the room, I saw that the other fifth-year girls looked as exhausted and hideous in the morning as I did. Tracey's curly brown hair was sticking up in all directions, Millicent had drool on the side of her cheek, and Georgina still had her sleeping mask on.

"Wake up, Daph!" cried Pansy. "Hogsmeade. Valentine's Day. Do you know what this means?"

I eyed her suspiciously.

"Valentine's Day date!" Pansy clapped her hands together. "I've always wanted to go to Madam Pudifoot's on Valentine's Day with…" She trailed off. She seemed thrown for a second, and we both knew what name she wanted to say, what name filled her fantasies, but rather than say it, Pansy smiled at me and said, "…someone nice. Who do you I should get to ask me? Hamish Knighton is fit…"

While a Valentine's Day Hogsmeade visit was somewhere near the bottom of my wish list, I couldn't help but grin at Pansy. It may seem like a small thing, but her deciding she wanted to go to Hogsmeade with someone other than Draco was a huge step in the right direction.

"We'll scout out who's available today," I told her. "There's got to be one fit bloke who'll take the prettiest girl in our year out on a Valentine's Day date."

Pansy let out a shriek of delight and hugged me. "We'll find you a date too, Daph."

"Not necessary," I said.

But, of course, when did Pansy ever listen to me?

She spent most of the morning pointing out boys who might be my type. I noticed she tended to point to the ones that were just outside her dating pool. For instance, she'd never date someone younger than her but that didn't spot her from pointing out fourth-year Curtis Evercreech for me. And she'd never be caught dead dating a Hufflepuff, but she'd still recommend I ask out Kevin Entwhistle. The worst of it was when Pansy recommended Marcus Fenwick in the middle of lunch. I'd been too horrified to speak, and Blaise had needed to come to my rescue.

"I don't think Daphne could date someone who can barely string two sentences together," said Blaise.

Pansy frowned. "You're right. This is much harder than I thought it'd be." She turned to me. "What even is your type?"

"I like good boys…" I said weakly.

"Leave her be, Pansy," said Tracey. "She's already dealing with Adrian Pucey."

Tracey had just wanted to help me escape Pansy's constant matchmaking, but unfortunately, she had picked the worst possible way to go about it. At the mention of Adrian, Pansy's eyes got wide and a slow smile made its way onto her face.

"Oh, I see now," said Pansy. "I get it, Daph."

I waved my hands in front of her face. "No, no, no. You really don't. There's nothing going on there. We're just friends. I just want to be friends."

"I didn't mean it like that," said Tracey. However, her words were far too little and far too late. The idea of me and Adrian had already been planted in Pansy's mind, and she wasn't going to change course any time soon.

With almost perfect timing, the Slytherin Quidditch gang showed up in the Great Hall for lunch. When she caught sight of them, an almost maniac grin appeared on Pansy's face, and before any of us could stop her, she bounded across the hall, calling out Montague and Adrian's names.

I buried my face in my hands and groaned. "I'm going to die. She's going to be the death of me."

Blaise watched Pansy chatting away with Adrian before saying, "I vote we head up to Ancient Runes early."

"I second that." I had already grabbed my shoulder bag from the floor.

"Don't leave me here," whined Tracey as Nott moved to follow us out of the hall. "I had enough of Montague before Christmas, and I don't want to hear him on my first day back."

"This is what you get for taking Divination," I said. "You should've taken a language class like us." I waved goodbye to her before Nott let the doors of the Great Hall swing shut behind us.

For the first time that morning, I breathed a sigh of relief. I loved Pansy, I really did, and I was proud of her for giving up on her four-and-a-half-years-long crush, but sometimes, Pansy was needed only in small amounts. I felt a bit bad for abandoning Tracey in the Great Hall, but she could handle Pansy far better than I could. Her love life was also far more active and interesting than mine, which meant Pansy didn't feel a need to interfere with it.

"What got Pansy in a matchmaking mood?" asked Blaise as we started down the hallway.

"Hogsmeade visit is on Valentine's Day," I explained. "She's trying to move on from Draco, and my non-existent love life distracts her."

Both boys winced.

"You're a good friend," said Nott.

"A better person than me," added Blaise.

"You want to tell her you're looking for a girlfriend?" I asked them hopefully. "Maybe give me a break for a couple hours…"

Nott shook his head, and I think Blaise muttered something along the lines of "over my dead body". I sighed. Some friends they were.

* * *

I think, during Divination, Tracey managed to talk Pansy out of matchmaking for me. I don't know how Tracey did it, but when the five of us reunited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Pansy didn't say a word to me about Adrian Pucey. And during dinner, she focused her energy on finding herself a date for Valentine's Day.

"It's not fair," whined Pansy when we gathered in our usual spot by the fireplace that night. "Half the school already has dates, and here I am looking for scraps."

"Half the school?" asked Tracey.

"It's only been one day since the Hogsmeade visit was posted…" I said.

"I was going to get Montague to ask," said Pansy, "but it turns out he's going with Zoe Accrington."

"She's far too good-looking for him," said Tracey. I noticed both Blaise and Nott nodded in agreement. Well, Zoe was Number One on the Fittest Females List for a reason.

"I know!" cried Pansy. "I can't believe she said 'yes'! And Georgina got asked by that cute sixth-year Ravenclaw what's-his-name. The one in Dueling Club…"

"Omar Shaw?" I supplied.

"That's it!" Pansy folded her arms across her chest. "Even Saint Potter has a date! And me? I'm all alone! I'm too pretty to be this alone!"

At the mention of Potter, I shut up. Thankfully, Tracey asked, "What do you mean 'Saint Potter has a date'?"

"He and Cho Chang," said Pansy. "Rumor is he asked her out this morning." Her scowl deepened. "She's really into dating those Triwizard Champions. I wouldn't be surprised if she's dating Viktor Krum next year."

"Or Fleur Delacour," said Tracey with a sort of dreamy smile.

"Potter's a step down from Diggory," said Pansy. She shot a knowing look in my direction. "I suppose Cho and Daphne have similar tastes."

"What?" So much for me staying silent. "Me? Harry Potter? Cedric Diggory was a gift to this earth, and I won't have you spoil my crush on him by saying I have a thing for Triwizard—though actually they were _Quad_ wizard—Champions!"

Four hands extended to me, and I scowled at my friends. "I'm not paying all four of you sickles."

"It's mine," said Pansy smugly. "She reacted to what I said."

With a sigh, I pulled a sickle of my bookbag and handed it to her.

Similar to last night, Blaise and Nott seemed to be keeping to themselves. They listened to our conversation, smiled when necessary, and added little quips here and there, but there were times when their gazes would shift and they went to dark places that I couldn't follow.

I was sitting on the loveseat next to Blaise, and when his mind started to wander, I tipped my head to the side and rested it on his shoulder. He placed a hand on my head for a second to let me know that he was still here. We would talk later, I knew. When he was ready.

Nott, on the other hand, I was less sure about. Ever since third year, when he learned that his father had served the Dark Lord willingly and not while under the Imperius Curse, Nott had hated returning home. Usually, he was a little off on the first night back at Hogwarts, but he'd soon settle back to being our Nott and everything would be okay. Not this time, it seemed. This time he was taking a little longer.

I didn't know how to pull Nott out of his dark place, not like I did with Blaise, so I tried the method that worked best for me. I started talking about my theories.

"So, Nott," I said, "I was thinking about the break-in that happened over the holidays—"

"The Ministry break-in?" asked Pansy, frowning.

"The one in the Department of Mysteries," explained Tracey.

It took me a moment to remember that I hadn't filled Pansy in on what I'd discovered from my father. I didn't usually tell Pansy all my theories—partly, because I thought she'd make fun of them and partly, because I worried she might go running to Draco. But she'd been much better recently, and perhaps it wouldn't be too bad to share this one with her.

"Arthur Weasley got attacked by a snake in the Department of Mysteries," I explained. "He has no business in the Department of Mysteries. My father was in and out for days trying to get everything sorted. I don't know exactly what happened, but it seems someone pulled strings to get Arthur Weasley off the hook."

Pansy's jaw dropped. "When I read the paper, I thought it was a Death Eater who broke in…"

"Nope." I shook my head. "Just the opposite." I turned to Nott and was glad to see that his attention was on me—not on the fireplace or one of the tapestries—on me. I wanted to keep his focus here. "So I was thinking about my theory that Dumbledore was behind Arthur Weasley's presence in the Department of Mysteries, and then I remembered what you said at the beginning of the year about some Order existing—you don't think Arthur Weasley is part of that, do you?"

A small smile flickered across Nott's face. "Nothing gets by you, does it, Daph?"

I may have glowed a little at that. "I try."

"What Order?" asked Pansy. "Why is Dumbledore trying to break into the Ministry?"

"I think you're right," said Nott. "About the Weasleys being involved with Dumbledore's Order. It would explain why Lucius Malfoy and my dad _hate_ the Weasleys on principle."

"Well, the Weasleys are blood-traitors," scoffed Pansy.

"Ernie Macmillan's a blood-traitor, Hannah Abbott is a blood-traitor," I said, "but you don't see Draco Malfoy giving them the same scorn he gives the Weasleys. And the Weasley's are close to Dumbledore—everyone knows that." I stopped myself. The other bits—about the Dark Lord and Dumbledore wanting something in the Department of Mysteries—I'd rather keep between Nott and me. I didn't quite trust Pansy with that information.

"So Arthur Weasley was in the Department of Mysteries on Dumbledore's orders?" asked Tracey. "Why?"

"And why did a snake attack him?" asked Blaise.

"I don't know," I said.

Blaise nudged me in the side, and I knew he'd seen through my lie. He wouldn't ask me in front of the others, but he would expect me to fill him in later. I elbowed him back to let him know I would.

The good news was that the theorizing seemed to have pulled Nott out of whatever dark place he'd been in. He was now leaning forward in the armchair, his elbows on his knees. There was a light in his eyes as if the conversation had given him new interest. I smiled at him, but when he met my gaze, the energy faded a little.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"What's the matter?" echoed Tracey.

"I…" Nott seemed to be fighting some battle within himself. The part of him that was his father's son, and the part of him that wanted to be his own person. I waited, wondering what he would decide. Finally, he lifted his head, and from the determined look in his eyes, the Nott he wanted to be had won out. Keeping his voice low, Nott said, "My father told me something strange on the platform. He told me to keep an eye on the paper over the next couple days."

A hush fell over our group as we turned those words over in our minds.

"That's what's been bothering you?" Tracey asked gently.

Beside me, Blaise muttered, "Hate to say it, Nott, but anything your father's looking forward to can't be good."

Nott nodded. "That's what I thought. I wasn't sure what I should say… Should I go to someone? It could be a false alarm."

"Did he give you any hints?" I asked. "If we knew something more maybe we should go to someone…"

"Maybe he just got a promotion at work," said Tracey. "And the paper is going to run an article about it."

Nott managed a weak smile. "Maybe."

"More than likely," said Pansy, "the Dark Lord is up to something."

"Well, yes," I said with a sharp glare in her direction. "But we shouldn't give up hope. I doubt we'll go down to breakfast tomorrow and find ourselves faced with an impending sense of doom."

Tracey laughed. "It'll be fine. Fudge is probably being an idiot again."

Pansy yawned, stretching her arms above her head—a clear sign that it was time for bed. Pansy and Tracey headed off first, and I promised Blaise I'd fill him in during Arithmancy before he headed to the boys' dormitory. Which left me and Nott alone by the low-burning fireplace.

"You good?" I asked.

He stood with his head slightly bent and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his gray trousers. He managed the smallest of smiles for me. "Thanks, Daph."

"For what?" I shrugged. "You know I'll take advantage of anyone willing to discuss the great Hogwarts conspiracies with me. And Dumbledore raising an army against the Ministry is the top conspiracy right now."

"Still, thanks…"

I gave him a quick goodnight hug—which might have surprised him, as hugging had never been part of our friendship before—and then headed up to the girls' dormitory. Despite the rough times my friends were going through, and despite Nott's foreboding warning, I went to bed in a happy mood. When I closed my eyes, I dreamt of hippogriffs and treacle tarts and good things.

* * *

Unfortunately, I was wrong. We did go down to breakfast the next morning and find ourselves faced with an impending sense of doom.

Nott and Blaise slept in, so we girls waited for them outside the Slytherin dungeon. By the time the five of us arrived in the Great Hall, the morning's issues of the _Daily Prophet_ had already been delivered. The hall was filled with the buzz of conversation, but right away, I could tell that it wasn't the usual happy chatter or complaints about early mornings. No, the hall was filled with the voices of frantic fear.

"What happened?" asked Tracey as we settled onto the benches at the end of the Slytherin table.

Isolde along with Nott's owl, Dee, swooped down to deliver our copies of the _Daily Prophet_ on our plates. The ten faces staring up at me from the front page were enough to put me off food for the rest of the day. The names beneath each photograph flashed before my eyes, making me dizzy. Dolohov. Rookwood. Travers. Mulciber. Shafiq. Rowle. Carrow. And of course all three Lestranges. Names I knew and recognized even if most of the jeering, insolent faces in the paper meant nothing to me. I glanced at the sixth photograph and then looked away again.

Their crimes were laid out beneath each photo. Dolohov had brutally murdered Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Rookwood had worked as an Unspeakable, passing information to the Dark Lord. Mulciber was an expert with the Imperius Curse. Shafiq and Rowle had hunted muggles together for sport. Carrow was a master of the Cruciatus Curse. And the Lestranges had tortured the Frank and Alice Longbottom together—my chest tightened as I thought of poor Neville.

 _This_ had been what Nott's father had wanted his son to keep an eye out for. Ten Death Eaters— No, not just Death Eaters. Ten of the _worst_ Death Eaters, the Dark Lord's most loyal followers, had escaped from Azkaban last night.

Slowly, my eyes lifted to look at Nott. His face was ashen, and he looked as though he might throw up at any moment.

"Oh Merlin…" whispered Tracey.

Blaise took the paper from my plate and started reading the article on the next page. As he did so, my gaze flickered over to the Gryffindor table, but I couldn't find Neville Longbottom anywhere. Not that I blamed him. I wouldn't have stuck around after seeing my parents' names on the front page either. But then I noticed that sharp glares that were coming from the Gryffindor table. The hateful glares weren't directed at me personally, but they were focused in the direction of my house. As I glanced around, I noticed that similar looks were coming from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"They'd better not think we're happy about this," I said.

My friends followed my line of sight. Blaise's frown deepened into a scowl, while Pansy looked as though she might start yelling. Nott kept his head down.

"We're not all related to Death Eaters," snapped Tracey, glaring over his shoulder in the general direction of the Gryffindor table.

Anger boiled in my chest, and it took all my willpower not to march across the room and tell those Gryffindors just what I thought of them. Didn't they have any brains? Couldn't they see that most of the people at the Slytherin table looked horrified? Not every Slytherin was like Draco, whose smug smile would've made one think he broke the Death Eaters out of Azkaban himself.

"Even if we are related to them," said Nott, "most of us believe Death Eaters belong locked away in Azkaban."

Nott's face was stony as he stared across the hall at the Gryffindor table. My heart went out to him. I lifted Nott's copy of the _Prophet_ from his plate and pointed to the sixth picture. In it, a blond-haired man in his late-forties leered out at the world. Deep shadows traced the edges of his eyes, and years under the watch of dementors had taken away whatever attractive features he'd once had. I doubted anyone could see the resemblance at first glance.

"Thorfinn Rowle." I peered around the paper and met Nott's eyes. "He's my uncle."

I watched the truth dawn on my friends. They connected the white-blond hair and brown eyes to mine, and the pointed nose to Astoria. I think I had his arched eyebrows too.

"My mother's older half-brother," I explained, "by her father's first marriage. My grandfather isn't a Death Eater, and before he died, Grandfather disowned Uncle Thorfinn for joining…" I frowned at the picture. "You know, my muggle great-great-grandfather was on my mother's side so I guess Uncle Thorfinn is keeping some secrets from his buddies."

"You…" Tracey seemed to have a hard time finding words. "I thought you didn't have any Death Eater connections."

"Well, he's been in Azkaban since I was a baby," I said. "And he was disowned before I was born. I'd hardly say I'm connected to him."

"Oh, I'm fairly certain I'm related to one of them as well," said Pansy, waving a careless hand at the _Prophet_. "The Lestranges, I think. Or maybe Carrow. Or maybe both. It's inevitable when your family's one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that you'll be related to a Death Eater."

I nodded. "I bet you there's some pureblood Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gyffindors who are looking at the _Daily Prophet_ in horror as well, realizing the Death Eater in their family closet has escaped from prison." I pointed at my uncle's picture again. "Being related to a Death Eater doesn't mean pixie shite about us, and anyone with half a brain should know that."

Nott gave me a small smile.

Tracey seemed to have recovered from her shock. She inspected the faces of the ten Death Eaters again and said, "Fudge has to believe the Dark Lord has returned now…"

"No word of it," said Blaise who had finished the whole article. "Just calling it a security breach and saying they need to be stricter on the dementors. They're blaming Sirius Black, saying he's a rallying point for these 'former Death Eaters'."

Pansy let out a half-laugh half-scoff. "As if!"

"Former?" asked Tracey. "Does Fudge really think they're _former_ Death Eaters?"

"According to the _Prophet_ ," said Blaise grimly.

"Get rid of the dementors," I said. "They owe no allegiance to Fudge or the Ministry. Didn't Fudge ever take Binns' History of Magic class? Dementors have always sided with whoever will give them the better deal. That's all they want. And I can tell you now, guarding the wizard prison versus freedom to consume the souls of the Dark Lord's enemies—I know which one I would pick if I were a dementor."

"Most people sleep through History of Magic," said Pansy.

"I remember a little," said Blaise, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall. "Something about another dark wizard…"

"We wrote an essay on them fourth year," I said with a sigh. "Does no one else remember? Dementors have almost always picked the Dark Lord of the Day over the Ministry. It happens every—single—time."

Tracey glared down at the _Prophet_ as if she could will Fudge to come to his senses.

"Who voted Fudge as our Minister?" asked Pansy.

"I hate to say this," said Blaise. "But if Dumbledore had been named Minister all those years ago, I don't think we would have had dementors guarding our prison."

Pansy snorted. "Perhaps. But he probably would have thrown all the Slytherin students into Azkaban as soon as we were sorted."

I couldn't exactly argue with that, but as I stared down at the faces of the escapees, I had to admit that all ten of them had been in Slytherin.

"Archibald Selwyn."

The name threw me—I'd never heard it before and it wasn't in the paper—and I turned to stare at Nott. "What?"

"He's a friend of my dad's," said Nott. We all knew what "friend" meant in this context. "He was a Hufflepuff. And Jarek Pyrites was a Ravenclaw…and is a friend of my dad's. Not all Death Eaters are Slytherins, just like not all Slytherins are Death Eaters." He shook his head. " _Most_ Slytherins aren't Death Eaters. Even if many of us are related to one."

It was my turn to give him a grateful smile.

"Zacharias Smith is glaring at us," said Tracey.

"Let's glare accusatorily at the Hufflepuff table when we walk by," I said. "It'll throw them all through a loop."

"Or," said Blaise, "they'll think you plan to set your uncle on them."

My eyes narrowed. "Very true. But no one knows I'm related to that piece of pixie shite."

"You can tell people I'm related to Bellatrix Lestrange if you want," said Pansy, staring down at the paper. "I hear she was very beautiful and charismatic before she got thrown in prison." She squinted at the picture. "Actually, I think she's still charismatic."

"I'll make sure to spread it around the rumor mill," said Tracey with a sigh. She grabbed her bag from beneath the bench and got to her feet. "We should get to Transfiguration before all the good seats are taken."

Outside the Great Hall, Pansy and I parted ways with the others to make a run to the lavatory. For once, I was going because I actually needed the loo and not because Pansy had dragged me with her. She hated going to the lavatory alone, saying that it made her look like she had no friends. I swear I could take a class on her and still not understand how Pansy's mind works.

"I didn't know about your uncle," said Pansy as we washed our hands in the porcelain sinks.

I glanced around the lavatory but I didn't see anyone else. I wasn't stupid enough to go talking about my uncle outside my friend group. When I didn't see any other girls, I turned back to Pansy and said, "Yeah, well, Astoria and I don't exactly go shouting it to the world. Our mum hates him. She doesn't talk about him unless she's on the piss—and even then, it's rare. I think mum and her brother were close once. Then she found out he'd joined up with the Dark Lord and well…"

Pansy grimaced. "Your mum's all right in her way."

"Yeah," I said. "She has her mo—"

I didn't even realize what had happened until the spell actually hit me. I didn't see or hear whoever cast it, but suddenly, there was a stinging pain on the side of my neck. My hand flew to my throat as the pain started spreading to my chest and arms.

"Daphne?" asked Pansy. "What is it?"

I gasped for breath, but the stinging sensation was overwhelming. My throat was starting to close.

Then, Pansy saw the red burn marks that had formed on my neck. She swore and said, " _Solva_ _Aculos_."

After a flick of her wand, the pain started to ebb away. I found that I could breathe again. I leaned against the wall, holding onto the edge of the sink for support.

Pansy wasted no time. She rounded on the lavatory stalls and, wand still raised, approached them. " _Dunamis_." The spell caused the first stall door to swing open. Inside was nothing but the loo. She waved her wand and said the incantation again, and the next door leapt open. Even though I couldn't see her face, I knew Pansy's expression must be terrible. I was sincerely glad I wasn't whoever was hiding in the stalls.

Finally, in the second-to-last stall, the door swung open to reveal a thin-faced, dark-haired Ravenclaw girl. She was small, and from the looks of her, she might have been a fourth year.

"Great," I muttered. I'd been hexed by a fourth year. I was never going to live this one down.

The girl lifted her wand, as if she meant to duel Pansy, but with an almost lazy flick of her wand, Pansy disarmed the girl.

"Do you know who I am?" asked Pansy. Her voice was icy.

The girl glanced over at me and then up at Pansy. With more courage than I would've thought possible, the girl cried, "You're a Slytherin cun—"

"Do you know who I am?" repeated Pansy. "I am the fifth-year Slytherin prefect, newt-face." (She was right: the Ravenclaw did sort of resemble a newt.) "And the girl you just hexed is my friend."

The stinging pain that had filled my body only a minute before was all but gone. Only the burn mark on my neck remained; I could see it reflected in the bathroom mirror—red and angry.

"Were you trying to kill her?" asked Pansy.

The girl went very still and very pale. "Sh-she wasn't in any danger. I knew the counter-spell. I-I was going to cast it, but—"

Pansy raised her wand and said, " _Anteoculatia_."

The girl screamed, and I watched, half-fascinated and half-horrified, as dark gray horns started to grow on the girl's head. Her hands clutched the horns as if trying to tear them off.

"Shut up," said Pansy. The girl immediately stopped screaming. Pansy let the horns remain on the girl's head as she spoke, "You hit my friend in the neck with a Stinging Hex, and you say that she wasn't in any danger. Newt-face, did you not see her unable to breathe? You say you knew the counter-spell? Were you planning to undo the hex while cowering in the bathroom stall?" The girl whimpered, which must have annoyed Pansy, because she waved her wand again and said, " _Offerrea_."

Yellow pus spurted out from the girl's nose. I watched as the Ravenclaw girl collapsed onto the lavatory floor. Pus oozed between her fingers, and the horns that protruded from her dark hair seemed to have grown even bigger.

"You do not hex Slytherins," said Pansy as she stood over the fallen girl. "And you especially do not hex my friends. The next time I see or hear that you have cursed an unsuspecting Slytherin in the lavatory, I will do much worse than give you horns and puss."

With a wave of her wand, Pansy made boils sprout on the girls arms, legs and face. The sobs were joined with whimpers of pain.

"I-I knew the counter-spell…" The girl gasped each word. "I wasn't…"

"You're lying," said Pansy. "Trying to make it seem like you aren't guilty of attempted murder." Pansy kicked the girl in the chest. A howl of pain filled the bathroom.

From somewhere in the pit of my churning stomach, I managed to find my voice. "Pansy, we should report her… It's not our responsibility to punish—"

"Those professors won't do shite," said Pansy. "Maybe a week of detentions. They'll secretly think we deserve to get cursed. Because we're Slytherins. I'm sure they think we're evil little cunts just like this cow."

The girl sobbed into her hands. Puss and tears mixed together in her palms.

With a sigh and a glance at me, Pansy waved her wand, and the horns, the puss, and the boils disappeared. The Ravenclaw girl looked so small and so frail as she lay curled up on the lavatory floor.

Her gaze never leaving the girl, Pansy asked, "What's your name?"

The girl only whimpered.

"I can bring back the horns and pus," said Pansy.

"Nanette," the girl whispered. "Nanette Desford."

Pansy's eyes narrowed at the familiar name. "A mudblood." She spat the word.

"Muggleborn," I corrected automatically.

Pansy turned to give me the biggest what-are-you-going-on-about-now stare I'd ever received in my life. Then, Pansy pointed her wand at the Ravenclaw girl and said, "Listen, newt-face. I will report you to Umbridge, and you will receive a detention for what you've done. I am only doing this because my friend here is too nice for her own good. If I had my way, I'd have used an Unforgiveable Curse on you." Pansy paused for dramatic effect. "If you tell anyone that I hexed you, I will ensure you spend the rest of the year with puss oozing from every pore in your body. And if you tell anyone— _anyone_ —that my friend here is related to a Death Eater, I will make sure you end up in St. Mungo's for the rest for your miserable life. Got it?"

The girl nodded.

"I need to hear you."

"Yes."

"Pansy…"

She turned to me, and I caught the flash of the rage in her eyes. Chills ran down my spine, and I took a step back. But when Pansy saw my face, the anger faded. She was my friend again, the silly girl I'd known since we were eleven. Back when we didn't know how cast a single spell...

Pansy's dark eyes glanced over me, focusing on my neck, and she asked, "Are you all right? Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Personally, I thought the Ravenclaw girl needed the Hospital Wing more than I did, but I knew better than to say so to Pansy. I traced the spot where the Stinging Hex has hit me. It was still sore, but the worst of it had passed. "I'm fine."

"Let's go." With one last scornful look at Desford, Pansy walked out of the lavatory.

I knew I should follow, but I couldn't resist stopping to look back at the girl. She was still on the ground, one hand clutching her nose even though the puss had vanished. I should do something, get help, get Nott at least. Even if she seemed fine, there was no guarantees that there would be no after effects. Someone should look over her to make certain. I shouldn't have even let it get to this point. I should've stopped Pansy before she'd cast the first spell. Pansy was a prefect. She was supposed to report wrongdoers for detention, not punish them herself. I should've stopped her. But I'd been so shocked and in so much pain that I hadn't thought about what Pansy was doing to the poor girl. I had just stood there, like an idiot, and let Pansy…

Desford seemed to realize that I hadn't followed Pansy, because she twisted on the floor so she could look at me. Hatred burned behind her dark eyes. She didn't see me, she didn't see the girl she could have killed, she just saw the Slytherin niece of a muggle-killing Death Eater.

I turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! 
> 
> This is the chapter where people tend to agree with Pansy more. I'm curious what y'alls thoughts are. 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!


	13. The Ill-Fortune of the Zabini Family

**Chapter Thirteen: The Ill-Fortune of the Zabini Family**

I followed Pansy through the halls of Hogwarts. I don't think she knew where we were headed—we were nowhere near the Transfiguration classroom—but I didn't have the nerve to tell her that we might be lost. It didn't matter anyway. We were already late for Transfiguration, and I'd rather just skip the class altogether than show up fifteen minutes late and face McGonagall's wrath.

Nanette Desford's face flashed before my eyes, and I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to snap myself out of the memory. The girl had been a cow. And Pansy… A flick of her wand caused horns to grow out of Desford's head and pus to spurt from her nose. I'd caught a glimpse of Pansy's expression in the lavatory… In her eyes, there'd been hatred, anger, and something akin to amusement. Was this Pansy really the same Pansy I'd known all these years? Had she changed somewhere along the road? It hadn't happened over night, right? How had I not noticed? Or maybe I'd just refused to notice?

My fingers traced the red marks on my neck. The skin was still tender. "We should go to the Hospital Wing."

Pansy stopped walking. "What?"

I winced when she looked at me, but of course her terrible expression was long gone. She was still angry, yes, but there no longer a hint of malice in her dark eyes. After taking a deep breath, I said, "We're skiving Transfiguration, so I figure we should get a note from Madam Pomfrey so McGonagall knows why. I'm bad enough at Transfiguration as is, and I'd rather not give McGonagall more reasons to dislike me. We should also, um, report Desford. Someone should make sure she's all right…"

The way Pansy stared at me, I wondered if I'd started to grow horns. But then, in a low voice, she asked, "Why are you so calm? Why?" She started to speak quicker as the anger took over. "That stupid cow could've killed you. What if I hadn't been there? What would you have done? Leave her to rot on the lavatory floor for all I care."

The tension left my body as I watched Pansy grow spitting mad on my behalf. She was still the same Pansy. The Pansy that would walk through fire if it meant keeping her friends safe. The rest of it… I was just imagining the rest of it.

"I didn't die though," I said. "You were there."

"Learn how to cast a stupid counter-spell," snapped Pansy.

"We don't start non-verbal spells until sixth year." From the glare Pansy gave me, I figured she didn't want to hear that right now. I changed tactics and said, "I'm all right. She'll serve detention. And I'm sure she'll think next time before casting a Stinging Hex on someone."

"Don't be so forgiving," grumbled Pansy.

My eyes narrowed. "I haven't forgiven her. I think she's a piece of hippogriff shite." Even as I spoke, I knew it was useless. I couldn't muster up the proper anger. Not after I'd seen her sobbing on the floor, clutching her chest where Pansy had kicked her. I sighed. "But she's also a fourteen-year-old idiot who spends her time surrounded by other fourteen-year-old idiots. I'm sure she knew the counter-spell and did intend to cast it. She obviously had no intention of actually killing me. She overheard me saying that my uncle escaped from Azkaban, and she thought I was someone like Draco. There's been more than one time where I've wanted to curse that ferret for the stupid things he says. Of course, she's a prat for thinking that because I'm related to a Death Eater, I share his beliefs, but I'm not going to hold a grudge against her believing the same thing about Slytherins that almost everyone else in this school does. If I did that, I'd have to hate three-quarters of this school, and I just find hating that many people exhausting."

Pansy opened her mouth, and I could tell she wanted to argue more. Pansy held grudges. I, while I certainly didn't forget, was much more willing to move on. The Ravenclaw girl had been traumatized enough. Let the professors decide her punishment.

"Let's not tell the others," I said. "You know how they'll react. Blaise will want to hex her back. Nott will stop Blaise but Nott will want to talk to her…which might be more terrifying than Blaise hexing her. Tracey will worry over me. It'll be endless. I'd rather not deal with that." I paused and then added, "And I'd rather they not know I got jumped by a fourth year."

Pansy hesitated and then nodded her head. "Fine. We'll tell them it was period cramps."

"Good idea," I said. "That'll stop Blaise and Nott from asking too many questions."

We went to the Hospital Wing, and we told a horrified Madam Pomfrey that I'd gotten hit by a Stinging Hex. She sent one of the seventh-year prefects to find Desford and bring her to Dumbledore's office. Within a matter of minutes, Madam Pomfrey healed my neck to the point where the marks were barely noticeable, but Pansy and I had to wait for Professor Flitwick's so we could properly report Desford. By the time we were free to return to class, it was time for Arithmancy. Madam Pomfrey offered to excuse me from classes for the rest of the day, but I refused. All I wanted was for everyone to forget and for my life to return to normal.

I met Blaise in the Arithmancy classroom, and before he could ask me why I'd skived off Transfiguration, I told him it was that time of the month. He shut up immediately and focused on the problem set in front of him. Pansy must have told the same story to Tracey and Nott, because neither one of them asked me anything at lunch.

The peace didn't last long.

After double Charms that afternoon, we had the rest of the day free. We headed down to the Slytherin dungeon, claimed our usual chairs by the fireplace, and settled in for the next few hours. Apparently, our professors had decided to give us a break from the constant essays, and I finished all my readings before the sun had even set. The rest of my friends, who were slower readers than I, were still struggling with the densely-worded Potions texts and didn't have time to talk yet. Unfortunately, free time was the last thing I wanted right then. I wanted to be doubled-down with work, too busy to reflect on what had happened to me that day. And as I sat, curled in the armchair by the common room fireplace, the shock of what had happened that morning hit me in full.

Nanette Desford could have killed me. She'd cast a spell, hoping to make me miserable, and because of her carelessness, I'd almost choked to death in the girls' lavatory. I mean, she probably _did_ know the counter-spell and _did_ plan to underdo the hex, but… It was jarring to realize anyone could harbor such hatred for me. I didn't consider myself a particularly good person by any means, but I thought I was at least a decent human being. I didn't hex random people in the halls for one, and I didn't share the pureblood superiority complex. I'd even stupidly corrected Pansy when she'd called Nanette Desford a mudblood. But despite all that, Desford had wanted to hurt me. She'd wanted to make me suffer. Could anyone really hate me that much? Why? What had I ever done to her? Were the other people out there—people I'd never spoken to before in my life—who harbored the same hatred towards me? Were they just waited for a chance to jump me when no one was looking? Why? Because I was a Slytherin?

"Daphne?"

The sound of my name caused me to look up, and I saw Tracey watching me with a curious expression on her face. Her Potions textbook lay open on her lap, but her eyes were on me.

"A-are you all right?" Her voice was gentle as if she was afraid that one wrong word would set me off.

"Yeah." My voice was little more than a croak. I gulped and tried again. "Yeah. I'm good."

"You don't look 'good'," said Blaise.

I glanced around at my friends and saw that none of them were reading anymore. Nott had closed his book, while Tracey looked as though she wanted to hug me. Blaise's brow was furrowed in silent anger, and Pansy wore a grimace, the corners of her mouth pulled tight.

I wondered what I looked like, what expression I must have been making, to stop my friends in the middle of their work.

"It's nothing," I said. "Just, uh, cramps."

"Are you sure…?" asked Tracey. She'd seen me with cramps countless times throughout the years, and she wasn't buying my story now.

Finally, Pansy grew impatient. She slammed her textbook shut and said, "Don't lie, Daph. You're clearly not all right. Nanette Desford is a newt-faced cow."

"What happened?" asked Nott. His eyes flickered from me to Pansy and back. "Daphne?"

"Pansy…" I said. There was no force behind my voice though. I'd already given up on stopping her.

"We didn't miss Transfiguration because Daphne had cramps," said Pansy. "When we were in the lavatory this morning, some fourth-year Ravenclaw prat overheard us talking about Death Eaters, and she cast a Stinging Hex on Daphne. Only she cast it wrong and her aim was shite. She hit Daphne in the neck—"

"She did _what_?" asked Blaise.

"I got the newt-face mudblood," said Pansy.

"Muggleborn," corrected Nott immediately.

Pansy shot him a scathing glare before continuing, "I gave her a good scare and told her she'd wind up in St. Mungo's if she tried anything like this again. And after, we went to the Hospital Wing to make sure Daphne's neck was fine and reported the cow to Flitwick."

My friends reacted exactly how I predicted. Tracey immediately started asking how I was feeling and if I needed anything, while Blaise muttered a string of impressive curses and asked Pansy what the name of the Ravenclaw girl was again. Nott, on the other hand, told Blaise there were other ways to deal with this than jinxing the girl.

"I'm all right," I said, interrupting Blaise's response. "It's over."

"You didn't look fine a few minutes ago," said Tracey. "You looked so upset. I thought someone had died..."

I shook my head. "I was just distracted for a minute. It's a shock to the system."

"She's a cow," said Pansy. "If Blaise wants to give her another round of hexes, I think we should let him. It'd be no less than she deserves."

"It's because of this mass breakout from Azkaban," said Tracey. "Everyone was on edge at breakfast, and you saw how they were looking at us." She hesitated and added, "I wouldn't be surprised if more Slytherins ended up jinxed in the hallways over the next couple days."

"They could at least make sure they're hexing people who are actually supporters of the Dark Lord and not innocent Slytherins," snapped Pansy.

Sitting opposite me, Blaise's dark eyes burned, and I knew he still hadn't given up on the idea of getting revenge. I didn't plan on saying anything to him then, so I waited and let the rest of my friends talk it out.

Pansy was still seething from this morning, and now that she had Tracey to join her, her anger had returned full force. Tracey was usually a warm, caring person—there's a reason that out of all of us, she had the most friends in other houses—but she could hold a grudge longer than any of us. Nott argued with the other two, pointing out that jinxing the Ravenclaw girl in the hallways would do nothing the solve the problem and would most likely escalate it.

For once, I was willing to sit back and let someone else take the reins in the argument. I listened to the debate as it went well into dinner time, and when Tracey finally proposed we go down to the Great Hall, I used that as an excuse to escape.

"I'm exhausted," I said, throwing in a fake yawn for good measure. "You lot should go without me."

"Are you sure?" asked Tracey.

"I'll stay with her," said Blaise. "We'll grab something from the kitchens if we get hungry later."

Tracey glanced at both Blaise and me before nodding. In silence, Blaise and I watched our friends put their bags away and then head out to the first floor. The common room was emptied as the rest of our house went to the Great Hall for dinner, and soon, the only sound came from the crackling fireplaces. I was curled up in one of the black, leather armchairs, while Blaise sat on the couch opposite, a hard look in his dark eyes.

"You won't go after her, will you?" I asked finally.

Blaise's gaze shifted to me. He said nothing.

"Leave her alone. She's an idiot. She's not worth the detentions you're going to get."

"You only get detentions if you get caught," said Blaise.

"And you will get caught," I snapped.

Blaise looked as though he wanted to say more, but slowly, the anger faded from his eyes and he dropped his head. "Pansy said you could have died."

"I was there." I folded my arms across my chest and stared into the flickering orange flames of the fireplace. "She frightened me."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blaise sit upright. "How can you tell me to leave her alone—"

"Not Nanette Desford." I hesitated, trying to decide if I should say more. But this was Blaise. It was in our first year, after stepfather Number Three died in an apparating disaster, that we'd become best friends. I'd come down to the common room in the small hours of the morning to find Blaise sitting on this very same couch, staring into the depths of the unlit fireplace. I'd told him about my parents' divorce two years prior, and he'd told me about his mother's late husbands. Ever since then, we confided in each other about almost everything.

"Who then?" asked Blaise. "Who frightened you?"

I took a deep breath and then said, "Pansy."

It physically hurt to say her name. It felt like a betrayal of my friend. Pansy wasn't a bad person. At least, I didn't believe she was wholly a bad person. Sure, she had her moments where she crossed the line: when she'd told Granger to go back to the mud she came from, when she'd called Longbottom a waste of space, when she told Susan Bones to take better care of her family… But I'd always figured that was a phase. A phase Pansy would grow out of once she got over her crush on Draco.

"What did Pansy do?" asked Blaise.

"She hurt Desford," I said. "Not just stopped her from casting another spell, but made her grow horns and boils and spurt pus from her nose. She even kicked her…"

"Desford deserved it."

I winced. I should've known Blaise would say that. Perhaps I was the strange one here. Perhaps Pansy getting revenge was the normal response. But still, the cold feeling of discomfort had settled in my chest, and I knew it wasn't going away any time soon. "I don't know how to explain… It was the way Pansy hexed Desford—with such ease and with such hate. And the expression on her face while doing it… It sent chills down my spine. I thought, 'What more can she do? How far will she go? Is she enjoying this?' That's the frightening thing. I don't know the answers. With you and Nott and Tracey, I know your limits. But with Pansy, I don't."

Blaise frowned and after a moment, admitted, "I don't know either."

"Has she always been like this?" I asked. "Have I been willfully ignorant? Or has something changed in her over the last five years and I just haven't noticed?" I wrenched my eyes shut and took a long, measured breath. "Which one is worse?"

We sat without speaking. I opened my eyes and watched as Blaise leaned forward on the couch so that his elbows rested on his knees. I remained in the armchair, my legs pulled up to my chest and my black robes wrapped around me like a blanket.

"She was looking out for you," said Blaise finally.

"Yes," I said. "That's very Pansy. She does love us, in her own way…"

Blaise noticed my hesitation immediately. "What is it?"

"I… Do I want to be friends with someone like that?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed, but other than that small movement, he remained still.

"Can I be friends with someone who can hurt others so easily?" I asked. "Someone who believes purebloods are better than half-bloods or muggleborns? Someone who bullies others to impress a prat like Draco? I don't know if I can."

"You have been for five years," pointed out Blaise.

The truth was a punch to the gut. I rested my chin on the tops of my knees and said, softly, "So I've been willfully ignorant all these years, pretending that Pansy isn't a complete cow."

"Well, we're all guilty of that," said Blaise. "Nott, for all his do-gooder attitude, has been friends with Pansy for five years. He hasn't tried to stop her any more than you have. Tracey, whose mother is a mudblood—"

"Muggleborn."

"She didn't try to stop Pansy when Pansy bullied Granger for having muggles for parents."

"And you?" I asked.

Blaise shrugged. "If we've put up with her bad traits for five years already, why stop now?"

His words threw me, and for a second, I could only stare at Blaise with open-mouthed surprise. Why would I want to continue being friends with someone who represented the very aspects of purebloods that I hated? The answer seemed obvious, and it hadn't occurred to me that someone else would think that wasn't a justifiable reason to stop being friends.

"You've seen her hex Granger and Longbottom just because she could," said Blaise. "So why are you getting upset only now?"

He was right, of course. I had simply ignored the discomfort I felt when Pansy had been cruel to Granger and Longbottom. While I hadn't participated in her bullying and I certainly hadn't said anything to encourage her, I hadn't done anything to stop her either. So why was I getting all worked up now? Perhaps because it was on my behalf. She was torturing a girl and claiming it was for me. But hadn't I always said that Pansy's love of her friends was her redeeming quality? She could be a prat to people outside our friend group, but when it came to us, she was fiercely protective. Hadn't I always praised that trait of hers?

"Maybe I'm overacting," I mumbled.

"Maybe," said Blaise. "Pansy has her moments, but she's a good friend."

"I-I just…" I struggled to find the right words to describe the shifting feeling that had settled in my stomach since that morning. "At what point is the final straw? When do we say 'No more. You can't act like this, Pansy'? Things can't remain the same forever."

"What's wrong with wanting some things to remain the same?" asked Blaise. His voice was unexpectedly rough. He caught sight of my frown and adjusted his tone. He hesitated and then with a sigh, he said, "My life's been nothing but change. What's wrong with me wanting my friends to remain the same?"

It took me half a heartbeat to understand what he referred to. I saw the dark expression on his face, his head slightly bowed and his eyes fixed on the rug. Immediately, I slipped out of the armchair and moved next to him on the couch. I sat cross-legged on the cushions, my whole body turned to face him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

Blaise grimaced. "What's there to talk about? It's the same old. Mother marries some rich wizard and then he dies. A couple months later, she's out looking for her next husband. It always happens, and yet she keeps doing it. She refuses to believe that it's anything other than ill-fortune that causes her husbands to die." He glanced at me. "Do you want to know?"

I didn't respond. Of course, I wanted to know. I'd been curious to know the answer since our first year at Hogwarts. The obvious answer, the one that no one dared say aloud, was that she arranged her husbands' deaths to gain control of their estates. But I had met Letizia Zabini, and somehow, I didn't think the obvious answer was the right one.

It'd been at the end of our third year when I met her. The image I'd formed of Letizia Zabini based on the rumors was that of a cold and cruel seductress, but I'd quickly discovered my error. Blaise had brought me to meet her after we'd gotten off the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9¾. Letizia had been as devastatingly beautiful, as I'd expected. Blaise had taken after her as she had the same smooth, brown skin, the same slanting black eyes, the same high cheeks bones as her son. She'd greeted me with a wide smile and a thick, Italian accent. She'd hugged first Blaise then me and told me I should visit one of their mansions over the summer. She'd even invited me to her wedding to Number Six. Letizia Zabini had seemed like a normal, loving mother—albeit she'd been wearing a designer dress and a necklace that I'm pretty sure was worth more than I'd ever earn in my life. But there hadn't been a milligram of malice in that woman, and I didn't think she was capable of murdering any one of her husbands, let alone all six of them.

Five years, I'd remained silent whenever Blaise talked about his step-fathers' mysterious deaths. The curiosity had burned inside of me, but I'd waited, wanting to be sure he was ready to tell me.

"You've never asked," said Blaise. His mouth twitched into a smile. "Trying to be polite. You can ask though. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

I smiled back. "The same to you." Then, I sobered. "All right, I'll ask—what happened to your mum's husbands?"

Even though Blaise had been determined to tell me, his courage faltered a little when the time came to actually speak. Finally, he said, "My mother insists that it's ill-fortune. No matter how many times I try to suggest to her that maybe it's something more, she scoffs. Yes, we live in a world of magic, but magic doesn't work that way—or, that's what she always tells me." Blaise shook his head. "My grandmother agrees with me. It runs in the family, you see."

"What?" I didn't know such things could run in families.

"Three generations of Zabini women have lived in Benevento, and all three women have failed to keep their husbands. My great-grandmother had three husbands, my grandmother two, and well, my mother… None of them lasted through more than three years of marriage."

I opened my mouth to speak but quickly closed it again. I didn't know how I was supposed to respond. What comfort should I give a friend whose family had a history of dead husbands? Blaise had told me that the Zabini family passed down their surname mother-to-child. At first, I'd thought it was some quirky family tradition, but now I wondered if it was because so many husbands made it confusing as to which name should be passed down.

"What about your great-great-grandmother?" I asked.

Blaise shrugged. "I don't know. My grandmother says she never knew her grandparents and that her mother never talked about them. Perhaps it began with my great-grandmother. Perhaps it goes back further than that. I'll probably never know."

Last year, after watching Fleur Delacour at the Yule Ball, Tracey and I had speculated that there was probably Veela blood in the Zabini family somewhere down the lost line. It would certainly explain why wizards threw themselves at Letizia Zabini despite the list of dead husbands.

"She must know," said Blaise softly. "She has to know. After six husbands, you would think she would realize that something must be going on. But my mother… It's 'ill-fortune', she says."

There was a hard look in Blaise's eyes, and I knew how difficult this was for him to tell me. He opened his arms to let me hug him, and after holding him for a moment, I shifted so that my head was resting on his shoulder as we sat on the couch, facing the dancing flames of the fireplace.

"She never married my father," said Blaise. "She didn't tell me much, but she claims he was her first love. She met him while on holiday in Ethiopia. It was a whirlwind romance, and then she never saw him again."

"So your father might still be alive?" I asked.

"Who knows. I don't care. He's the same as the rest—"

He broke off when the door to the common room opened. A group of third-year boys entered, talking loudly amongst themselves. A few of them cast curious glances in our direction, but for the most part, they ignored us as they made their way down to the dormitories.

"I hate her," said Blaise.

At least I knew how to respond to that. "No, you don't."

"'Ill-fortune'," Blaise sneered the word. "It's not an ill-fortune when you keep doing it. The first couple times, sure. How tragic. But six times—" He took a deep, trembling breath.

Blaise rarely lost control. He was usually so composed, a trait that he'd inherited from his mum, I knew. The only times I'd seen him lose his temper were after the death of his favorite stepfather, Number Three, and after some Gryffindor had jinxed Tracey in our third year. I knew his mother's six husbands upset him, but I'd never realized just how much.

There was one question that kept echoing around in my head, but I didn't dare ask it. I didn't think he could handle it right now. But Blaise surprised me, and he answered the unspoken question on his own.

"I don't know if it passes mother-to-son," said Blaise. "It doesn't matter. There's an easy solution—not that my mother would ever consider it. She would never let herself be controlled by something like 'ill-fortune'. It doesn't matter. I don't want to get married anyway." He glanced down at me. "You know what it's like. Marriage is a load of shite. They always say they love each other, but it's only a matter of time before they can't even stand to be in the same room. My mother didn't even wait a month after Number Six's death before finding herself someone new to shag."

I could feel Blaise's anger through his body. His shoulder was shaking slightly and the muscles of his left arm were tense. I shifted, reminding him to loosen his arm around me. He looked slightly embarrassed as he realized and adjusted is position.

"It's not all relationships that end like that," I said. "Pansy's parents are still madly in love to the point of nausea. And Tracey's parents are happily married too. It's not impossible to have a good marriage. Our parents just aren't the best examples..."

Blaise looked doubtful. "Even if there are happy marriages… We're our parents' children. What's to say we won't end up exactly like them?"

I asked myself that same question night after night. The only relationships I'd seen were my parents' failed one and my mum's disastrous list of boyfriends. Whenever I went home for the holidays, I could see their traits in me—my dad's obsessive curiosity, my mum's constant chatter, my dad's need to analyze everything, my mum's inability to stay organized. I was their daughter through and through. How could I avoid their mistakes when they were a part of me?

"The only thing we can do is try," I said finally.

Blaise prodded me in the side with his free hand. "Overrated. Being single's not bad as long as I've got you with me."

I laughed. "We can be single friends together. When Pansy and Nott and Tracey get married, we can attend their weddings and laugh at the miserable married lives laid out before them."

However, even as I spoke, my chest grew tighter. Did I want this?

A face flashed before my eyes—a thin face with handsome brown eyes and slightly rumpled brown hair. Adrian Pucey. My immediate reaction was to push the thought away. But then, I stopped myself. Despite the pounding in my chest, I forced myself to picture Adrian's face and consider him properly. I liked him well enough. He was a nice bloke. But did I like him well enough to date him?

I didn't want to end up like my parents, so I kept running away. But in running away, I kept ignoring that there was always a possibility I wouldn't be like my parents. A possibility that I could find a relationship like what Pansy's parents had. And if I kept running, wouldn't I just end up like my parents anyway? Alone and hurting.

"I want to try first," I said.

"What?" Blaise's arm tightened around me.

"As tempting as eternal singledom with you sounds," I said, "I want to try dating first. Maybe I won't, you know, be my parents' daughter. Maybe it won't be a complete disaster."

Blaise scowled, but before he could say anything, we were interrupted. Voices sounded from the far end of the common room, and soon other Slytherins started to fill the dungeon. It seemed dinner was over. As I started to pull away, Blaise caught hold of my arm.

In a soft voice, barely audible, he said, "Thanks for..."

I smiled. "You know I'm always here for you."

Blaise released me, and I settled back into the black leather armchair. Blaise opened his textbook, and I turned my gaze to the fireplace.

* * *

Blaise and I didn't share what we'd discussed with anyone else in our friend group, and I don't think they expected us to. After five years, they understood that there were some things Blaise and I kept between the two of us. If they ever felt left out, they didn't mention it.

When I climbed the dormitory stairs the next morning, I found Nott, Blaise, and Tracey standing in front of the notice board. I tried to sneak up behind Tracey, but she saw me coming and instead of saying, "Good morning, Daphne", like a normal person, she said, "'Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.'"

"What's that?" I asked.

"Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six," said Nott.

"There's another one?" I peered over Tracey's shoulder and saw that, sure enough, there was a new decree, signed with Dolores Jane Umbridge's flowery signature. "She doesn't ease up, does she?"

A hungry Blaise led the way to the Great Hall while the rest of us discussed the new decree.

"Why do you think Umbridge doesn't want professors talking to students?" asked Tracey.

A part of me was dying to throw out the theory that Umbridge didn't want professors who were friendly with Potter to help him with his secret movement against her, but I'd rather not lose any more sickles. While my dad was generous with pocket money, he wasn't generous enough to fund my bet. Instead, I said, "She probably doesn't want professors voicing their support of Dumbledore to the students. I could imagine professors recruiting some of the seventh years to Dumbledore's Order thing."

"Why would the professors recruit for Dumbledore's Order?" asked Tracey.

"You don't think some of the professors are involved in the Order?" I asked incredulously.

"Professor McGonagall for certain," said Nott. "And I wouldn't be surprised if Snape was too…"

"Snape?" Tracey gasped the name.

"Even if he's a complete prick," I said, "he's close to Dumbledore."

"But it seems a bit out of the way to make an Educational Decree just to prevent professors from recruiting seventh years," said Tracey. "I'm sure professors like Snape and McGonagall would simply ignore the decree. It's not like they respect Umbridge or the Ministry enough to listen."

"The Ministry is paranoid right now," I said. "Who knows how 'out of the way' they're willing to go. Even if it's completely ineffective."

"But with the Azkaban breakout, you'd think they'd have more important things to worry about than what teachers are saying to students," said Tracey.

"You'd think," muttered Nott.

Blaise pushed open the doors of the Great Hall, and I saw that most of the school had arrived for breakfast already. Only a few scattered spots in the middle of the Slytherin table remained open of us. When she spotted us, Pansy leapt up from her seat beside Georgina Runcorn and rushed over. She greeted me with a side hug and said, "Have you heard the news? Hagrid—the great oaf—is on probation."

Her word choice made me shift uncomfortably. As I ducked under her arm to escape the hug, I noticed Blaise watching my interaction with Pansy. I scowled at him before he turned away.

"But that's now two classes where we'll have Umbridge sitting in," grumbled Tracey. "Having Defense Against the Dark Arts with her is more than enough, but now we have Divination and Care of Magical Creatures."

"How does she have time for her own classes?" asked Nott.

Pansy ignored Nott's very sensible question and said, "Once the half-giant gets sacked, we'll have Grubbly-Plank back."

Tracey had to admit she preferred Grubbly-Plank.

"Maybe Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six is to stop professors from talking to students about probation," said Nott as we settled into our seat around the Slytherin table.

I nodded as I plucked a bagel from one of the plates and started buttering it.

"What do you mean?" asked Blaise.

"Well," said Nott, "I'm sure Potter—" He glanced at me. "—and his friends won't be happy that Hagrid's on probation. They've never been ones for following rules, so perhaps they'll try to save their favorite professor. It's a lot harder to protest probation if you can't talk to the professor."

"You've been listening to Daphne too much," said Pansy with a laugh.

I shoved the bagel in my mouth and said nothing, but I was glad that _someone_ had been listening to my Pottercentrism rants.

Nott shrugged. "It's a thought."

"Good morning, Daphne."

I turned around in my seat, buttered bagel half in my mouth, and saw Adrian Pucey standing behind me. I ducked my head, trying to swallow the bagel as quickly as possible. It went down the wrong pipe, and I started hacking and coughing. Blaise thumped me on the back until I could breathe again.

Yes, I'd resolved to give dating Adrian a shot, but I thought I'd have more time to mentally prepare myself. I definitely hadn't expected him to approach me at breakfast the next day.

"Hi," I croaked as I turned back to Adrian. "Good morning."

"Are you all right?" asked Adrian.

I willed him to forget my embarrassing moment. "Yeah, yeah great. What's up? How's—" Another cough. "—Quidditch?"

Adrian smiled. "It's good. We don't have a game for a while, but we're training hard." He glanced around at my friends. "I, uh, don't suppose I could speak to you in private for a moment…"

Pansy let out a small squeal of delight beside me. When I glowered in her direction, she covered her mouth with a hand and was suddenly very interested in her silverware. Blaise scowled at Adrian, and Nott stole a glance at me while pretending to read from the _Prophet_. Tracey watched my reaction with wide eyes. When I'd written to her over the holidays, I'd told her that I wasn't interested. And I really hadn't been interested at the time. But now, I smiled up at Adrian and said, as sweetly as I could, "Yeah, all right."

A wide grin spread crossed his face as if I'd just made his morning. A warm bubble formed in my chest, and I couldn't help but smile back.

I left my bag at the Slytherin table and followed Adrian out of the Great Hall. When his back was turned, my smile vanished and inside my head a mantra started: _Don't be afraid. You are not your mother. You are not your father, either. You are Daphne Greengrass, and you are a strong, competent woman. Don't be afraid._

The doors of the Great Hall closed behind us, but still Adrian didn't stop walking. We passed by Sue and Stephen. I saw them throwing curious looks in my direction, but thankfully, they didn't try to talk to me. This was difficult enough without my friends giving me an excuse to bail.

Finally, Adrian came to a halt in a deserted hallway just outside the Great Hall. I stopped behind him, my hands shoved into the pockets of my robes. I think I might've managed to have a calm expression on my face despite the sweaty palms and pounding heart. _Don't be afraid. You are not your mother. You are not your father, either_.

"Maybe this is kind of sudden," said Adrian, scratching the back of his head. "But I've been wanting to ask..." He coughed. He kept fidgeting with his tie, his fingers turning the green and silver fabric over and over again.

My stomach twisted. It wasn't too late to flee. I could make up some excuse about period cramps or promising to help Blaise with his Arithmancy homework.

But, in the end, I would wind up right back here. Maybe not with Adrian—he'd probably get the hint when I ran full speed back into the Great Hall—but someday, someone would ask me out again, and I'd have to give an answer. I couldn't run away every time. I didn't _want_ to run away every time.

There was only one thing for it. I had to hear him out. I planted my feet and lifted my chin, bracing myself for what was to come.

Adrian stared at me. "We're not going to fight, Daphne."

"What? Oh..." My hands dropped to my sides, and I felt my face reddening. Why was I so bad at this? Tracey had no problem flirting with pretty girls, and Pansy could pick a bloke on Monday and get him to ask her out on Friday. It was only me who could barely think straight. _You are Daphne Greengrass, and you are a strong, competent woman. Don't be afraid._

And then, Adrian asked, "Do you have any plans for the Hogsmeade trip in February?"

"No..."

"Would you, uh, like to come with me?"

He didn't say the word "date", which I was very grateful for. That word was too much for me. I nodded and gave a broken, "Y-yes."

At first, he didn't seem to quite believe that I'd agreed. Then, slowly, he started to smile. Let me just say, Adrian Pucey was ranked ninth of Hogwarts' Fittest Boys List for a reason.

"Great," said Adrian. He ran a hand through his hair and gave a little laugh. "Great. I know it's still some time off, but I wanted to ask you before anyone else. And I…" His whole face glowed, like it was some treat to go on a date with me. "Great."

"Y-yeah, it's great," I stammered. "I, uh, I should probably get back to the Hall though. I didn't eat last night, and I should probably finish my breakfast before class."

"Oh—sorry for interrupting," said Adrian. "Let me walk you back."

I managed a weak smile for him before the two of us walked side by side back down the corridor. We didn't talk much, other than to say we'd figure out the details of the date closer to the Hogsmeade trip. I think we were both too busy sorting through our emotions right then to say much of anything. Adrian seemed thrilled by the whole thing, while I was fighting the urge to vomit.

It was only when Adrian said goodbye to me outside the doors of the Great Hall that the situation dawned on me: I had just agreed to my first ever date. And not just any date, a date on Valentine's Day. It was going to be a bloody disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time figuring out how I should write the backstory for Blaise's mother. I didn't want to make her a murderer (that felt unnatural to the story I'm writing) and also has some really dark implications about Blaise's character that I don't think Rowling realized when she gave him that backstory. I also didn't want to write a full story behind a family curse (which felt unnatural), so this is the result.
> 
> I know a lot of readers ship Blaise/Daphne or Theo/Daphne, but Adrian's a nice guy. I've known who her final love interest is since chapter one, but I like keeping y'all on your toes.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments!


	14. Older But Definitely Not Wiser

**Chapter Fourteen: Older But Definitely Not Wiser**

All of Hogwarts goes crazy for a Hogsmeade visit on Valentine's Day. In a boarding school in the middle of Scotland, there isn't much chance to get away from the no-snogging-in-the-hallways policies. Sure, students found ways around the rules—the grounds, an empty classroom, a broom closet—but the excuse for horny teenagers to go on a date outside of school grounds was enough to drive everyone crazy.

Adrian asking me out was only the beginning. The next day, Pansy agreed to go with Holden Ledbury when he asked her at one of their Slytherin prefect meetings, and a couple days after that, Tracey asked the pretty sixth-year Diane Carter outside our common room. Blaise got stopped in the corridor at least three times for girls to ask him to Hogsmeade. He turned down the fourth year Slytherin and the sixth year Ravenclaw girls politely enough, but the third year Ravenclaw actually cried when he rejected her. Tracey gave Blaise a good talking to for that one.

Tracey and Pansy were looking forward to Valentine's Day. At first, they included me in their conversations, but I couldn't muster up the same level of excitement.

It wasn't that I didn't like Adrian—in fact, I enjoyed spending time with him. After I agreed to the Hogsmeade date, Adrian began hanging out with me more. If we were in the common room at the same time, he would come say hello and ask about my day. Sometimes, he'd take the seat next to me and help me with my homework if I needed it. Adrian was everything I could've hoped for in a date—friendly, nice, patient—and with each passing day, I did find myself looking forward to Hogsmeade more and more. Still, I couldn't help the dull feeling of dread that had settled in my stomach, warning me that the date would be a disaster.

But as unsettling as that feeling was, it wasn't the worst part of the approaching Valentine's Day. No, the worst of it was telling people that I had a Hogsmeade date with Adrian Pucey. My friends all reacted in the same way:

"You know, we always thought it'd be Blaise. But good for you, Daph."

Stephen Cornfoot readjusted the collar of his winter cloak as we made our way across the white Hogwarts' grounds. He looked over at me, saw my expression, and cried, "Why do you look mad? What'd I say?"

Sue Li scowled at her boyfriend. "It might have something to with the mention of a certain boy."

"Blaise?" repeated Stephen. "Why are you getting mad at me too, Sue? You were the one who said you thought it'd be Blaise first."

If glares were curses, Stephen would be dead by now. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and Stephen continued to walk through the late January snow in perfect health. He did, however, notice the scowls Sue and I were giving him, and he had the sense to look abashed.

"Sorry," said Stephen. "I didn't know he was off-limits."

"It's not that," I said as I tugged on the ends of my green and silver scarf. "Hannah said the same thing when I told her. So did Tracey and Pansy. I don't get it. Why does everyone think I'm destined to end up with my best friend? Am I missing something here?"

I saw Stephen and Sue exchange glances before they swiftly changing the subject to some gossip about Terry Boot and Susan Bones getting close recently. I sighed and halfheartedly listened as they speculated whether the two would go to Hogsmeade together.

It was a Wednesday afternoon during our free period between History of Magic and our elective class. I'd left my Slytherin group to join Sue and Stephen on the grounds. I'd mainly wanted to tell them that I was going to miss our usual Hogsmeade trip together because I had a date. Rather than grateful they'd get to spend Valentine's Day together, Sue and Stephen questioned me endlessly.

"What's Pucey like?" asked Sue.

"Uh…well, he's nice."

"You have to give us more than that," grumbled Stephen. "What's his sense of humor like? Who does he hang out with? Is he one of the good Slytherins or one of the bad ones?"

I scowled. "He's good. He follows the rules. He doesn't foul—as much as Lee Jordan wants to make all Slytherin Quidditch players out to be cheaters. He hangs out with the Slytherin Quidditch team, but he doesn't put up with Montague's shite if he doesn't agree with it."

Sue smiled at me. "It sounds like you caught a good one for your first date."

"I don't know…" said Stephen slowly. "The Slytherin Quidditch team is full of right prats."

Sue stepped on his foot. Then, as Stephen winced in pain, she turned to me aid said, "The only Slytherin boys I ever really hear about in the Ravenclaw common room are Malfoy and Zabini."

"Nott too, recently," said Stephen.

"Why Nott?" I asked, frowning. Nott was an all right-looking bloke but not fit enough to cause the girls in other houses to gossip about him.

"Well, the girls all thought Zabini and Nott were cool when they came to have a word with Nanette Desford last week," explained Sue.

"They did what?" I stopped in my tracks as anger began bubbling in my chest. I'd expressly told Blaise to leave Desford alone. Dumbledore had given her a long lecture in his office and sent an owl to her parents explaining the incident. She had been placed on probation and given three months of detentions. Spending five nights a week with Filch was punishment enough, in my opinion.

"The girls in my dorm were talking about it all night," said Sue with a sigh. "They all have crushes on Zabini now."

"What?" My jaw dropped.

Sue shrugged. "He is devastatingly handsome."

Stephen nodded in agreement.

"I told the boys to leave Desford alone," I said. "Pansy reported her, and the school is responsible for her. We don't need to take her judgment into our own hands." _Pansy had done that already_. I didn't say the last part aloud, and I felt guilty for even thinking it. Like Blaise and Nott, Pansy had just been looking out for me. I needed to let this go.

"They didn't hex Nanette or anything like that," said Sue. "They just stopped her outside Ravenclaw tower, and Nott politely asked her if they could have a word. They stayed within sight of her friends the whole time."

Stephen nodded. "Very polite, they were."

"Except that Zabini was giving her the death glare," added Sue.

"But a devastatingly handsome death glare it was," said Stephen.

I glared, and he grinned back at me.

"Nott did all the talking," said Sue. "I don't think Zabini said more than two words to Nanette. I don't know what Nott said, but after Zabini and Nott left, she started crying."

"Great," I muttered. If our Slytherin reputation wasn't bad enough, now we were going to be known for making fourth-year girls cry.

"Everyone thought they were cool for standing up for their friend like that," said Sue.

"What?" My mouth hung open.

"No one knows the details of what happened," said Sue quickly. "Don't worry about rumors. People just know something happened to you, and Nanette was responsible."

I didn't care about rumors; I was still processing the information that the Ravenclaw girls all fancied my friends. This was not how the other houses usually responded to Slytherin. Usually, we were the villains in every situation. It didn't matter if our reactions were reasonable, we somehow always ended up on the bad side. Such as that time first year when Gryffindor beat Slytherin for the House Cup because Dumbledore decided—at the last minute, in the middle of our celebration, after the Great Hall had already been decorated in Slytherin colors—to give Gryffindor the perfect amount of points to win. Despite the obvious favoritism on Dumbledore's part and his choice to snatch victory from us at the cruelest time, everyone called us sore losers.

"It's because everyone's still in their bad boy phases," explained Sue. "Slytherin boys are hot right now. And since Zabini and Nott don't go around bragging about blood purity—unlike a certain blond we all know and loathe—the girls feel free to have crushes on them."

"Nott isn't a bad boy," I said.

"Yes," said Sue. "But most of us don't know him as well as you do."

"And you've grown out of your phase?" I asked.

"She's still in hers," said Stephen proudly.

Sue and I gave Stephen a once over before looking at each other. I shook my head, and Sue said, "My bad boy phase was second year when I had a thing for Malfoy."

I couldn't hide the disgust I felt at that.

Sue laughed. "Looking back on it, I feel the same way."

"What? What?" Stephen gawked at his girlfriend. "Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"Don't worry about it," said Sue, patting his arm as she spoke. "You're ten times better than Malfoy."

I nodded. "More than ten."

Sue stumbled as her foot sunk into a patch of deep snow. Instinctively, Stephen grabbed her elbow to steady her. I watched as her gaze slid from where he held her arm up to his brown eyes. A slow smile spread across Sue's face. She shifted so that her hand caught his and slowly their gloved fingers intertwined.

I scrunched up my face behind their backs. Stupid couple.

But I supposed that was what couples looked like. Holding hands as they walked through the snow and gazing at one another with such adoration… I tried to picture Blaise and me doing that, but the image was nowhere to be found. So, I switched Blaise out for Adrian. It was easier to picture Adrian and me walking through the snow together, but even then, we seemed blurry and out-of-focus.

"You coming, Daph?"

I shook myself out of the fantasy and realized that I'd fallen behind Sue and Stephen. They'd stopped walking and were looking over their shoulders at me.

"Sorry!" I hurried through the snow to catch up to them.

* * *

"I can't believe you two!"

My anger at Blaise and Nott made my voice louder than I'd intended, and a couple of second years looked in my direction as I took a seat at the Slytherin table for dinner. Pansy and Tracey glanced at one another as if trying to figure out what they'd done wrong. Then, when they noticed I was glaring at the boys, they leaned forward and listened with sadistic curiosity.

"What happened?" asked Tracey.

"Who told you?" asked Blaise.

Unlike the girls, Blaise and Nott had not been confused. Nott had immediately ducked his head at the sound of my voice, while Blaise had turned to meet my glare. They'd both known perfectly well that I hadn't wanted them to go anywhere near Desford, and yet they'd ignored my wishes. Those stupid pigheaded pricks.

"Sue and Stephen," I said through gritted teeth, "they told me that you two ambushed Nanette Desford outside the Ravenclaw tower."

"We didn't ambush her," said Nott indignantly. He looked up from his dinner plate and scowled at me. "We just wanted to have a talk."

"Flitwick and Dumbledore have already had talks with her!" I snapped. Heads turned in our direction, and I realized my voice had carried down the table. When I spoke again, it was in a low hiss. "I was the one who was attacked. Don't I get a say in how she's judged? Dumbledore gave her detention, and I am satisfied with that. Now leave it alone."

"We will," said Nott quickly. "We're done now."

Blaise nodded.

Tracey and Pansy wisely chose to say nothing on the subject, even though I knew they agreed with the boys. Why was everyone against me on this? I wanted to forgive and forget Nanette Desford, yet everyone else seemed insistent on dragging the incident out.

The boys and I spent most of dinner eating in silence. I was still fuming, and Blaise and Nott knew I'd only snap if they tried talking to me. It wasn't until dessert that Tracey attempted to bring us back to speaking terms.

"Umbridge has been sitting in on our Care of Magical Creatures classes," said Tracey.

I swallowed a bite of treacle tart and asked, "You think Hagrid'll get the sack?"

"Most likely," said Pansy with a smile.

"It's a bit disappointing," said Tracey. "After he showed us the, um, thestrals," she glanced in Nott's direction before continuing, "he's followed the OWL curriculum."

Nott nodded. "He knows a lot about magical creatures, and I think he has a more nuanced knowledge than Grubbly-Plank."

"Listen to you two," scoffed Pansy, "trying to make excuses for him because you feel bad he's on probation. He showed us thestrals, which are under the Ministry's XXXX classification. Hagrid has no sense of what's dangerous and what isn't. It's going to get a student killed one day."

I had to agree with Pansy. Perhaps Hagrid had been showing improvement recently, but that didn't automatically make up for the years in which he'd placed students in dangerous situations. Nott and Pansy still complained about the scars they carried from last year's Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Someone settled in the open seat next to me, and I twisted around, trying to figure out who would dare interrupt dessert. For a second, I thought it might've been Adrian, but then I saw the hazel eyes and pointed nose. My sister smiled at me before stealing one of the chocolate truffles from my plate.

"Get your own," I whined as I waved my fork at her.

"I got a letter from Dad this morning," said Astoria.

There was something in her tone that made me pause. I put the fork down and asked, "What did it say?"

"He's coming back from Japan early."

"Did he say why?" I didn't expect an answer. Our dad rarely spoke about work. But to my surprise, Astoria nodded. It was only then that I noticed the red around her eyes. Slowly, I turned to face my sister properly. "What happened?"

"Perhaps we should go somewhere else," said Astoria, glancing around the Great Hall.

"What happened?" I repeated. I caught hold of Astoria's hand and stared at my sister.

She stared down at where my fingers tightly held hers as she said, "Mister Bode passed away in St. Mungo's on Monday. Dad's coming home for the funeral."

The world around me seemed to slide out of place. The voices of the Great Hall seemed so far away, and all I knew was the feeling of my sister's hand in mine. I hadn't been particularly close to Broderick Bode or anything like that, but he'd been my dad's good friend, and well, my dad didn't have many friends. The few times Astoria and I had met Bode, he'd been nothing but friendly and kind.

And now he was dead.

I still remembered when Bode invited us to his parents' Hippogriff stables in Scotland. I'd been eleven at the time, anticipating my first year at Hogwarts come September. Bode had walked Astoria and me through the stables, telling us the stories of how his parents had found each Hippogriff. One had been rescued from poachers. One had been bought on an auction block. One had been born in the stables. Astoria and I had begged Dad to buy us a hippogriff, but like the sensible adult he was, he refused.

After that, it became tradition for Astoria and I to buy Uncle Brody different Hippogriff paraphernalia for Christmas. A Hippogriff shaped mug, Hippogriff patterned pajamas, slippers in the shape of a hippogriff's head… This year we'd found him a calendar featuring the Hippogriff of the month. I doubt he saw it, what with him being bed-ridden in St. Mungo's.

Dad had visited Bode in the hospital ward at least three times a week over the winter holidays. He'd even brought Astoria and I to visit once. The last image I had of Bode was one of him lying in St. Mungo's, his skin sunken and his eyes unseeing.

Unfair. It was unfair. Hadn't Bode suffered enough? He'd dedicated his life to working in the Department of Mysteries. His wife had divorced him because of his job. He'd been lonely with only coworkers to call his friends. He'd been a nice bloke, too nice to pass away when he was only in his forties. An "incident", Dad had called it. But the Ministry's top aurors had been investigating that "incident". What had happened? Was the "incident" really as innocent as Dad had made it seem? Before the end of the holidays, Dad had told us that Bode's condition was improving…

"We should probably leave the Great Hall," said Nott. He spoke gently, while touching my shoulder lightly to remind me he was there.

Through watery eyes, I glanced around the hall and saw that we were beginning to attract attention. I let Nott help me up from the table and followed as Tracey led me out of the hall. Nott must have realized I wouldn't make it back to the common room, because he found us an empty classroom. I collapsed onto one of the benches, and Astoria sat down beside me. Tracey and Nott hovered outside the door, wondering if they should come in, but Pansy and Blaise entered without hesitation. Pansy took a seat on one of the desks, while Blaise settled on the bench on my other side.

I knew if I leaned on Blaise, I'd fall apart. I couldn't let that happen quite yet. Even though tears trickled down my cheeks as I thought of the man who'd smiled as he told me about hippogriffs, I managed to wait until the door closed behind us before I spoke. "How…how did this happen? I thought he was getting better. Dad said he was getting better."

"It was in the papers," said Astoria, "but Dad hoped we'd find out from him. Apparently…" She sniffled as she started rummaging through the pockets of her robes. She pulled out a carefully folded piece of parchment and handed it to me. "Someone gave Mister Bode a plant for Christmas. The Healer, she thought it was Flitterbloom… It turns out it was Devil's Snare."

"How could someone mistake Devil's Snare for Flitterbloom?" asked Pansy.

"They do look similar," said Tracey from the doorway.

"I understand the Healer making the mistake," said Nott, "but the person who sent Devil's Snare as a gift…"

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. My tears had disappeared, replaced with a sudden numbness. An "incident" in the Department of Mysteries had caused Bode to end up in St. Mungo's, thinking himself a teapot. Another incident had occurred that same week where Arthur Weasley had been attacked by a snake in the Department of Mysteries. And now, Bode, an Unspeakable, had been killed by a "gift" Devil's Snare. The Dark Lord wanted something in the Department of Mysteries... All the conversations I'd had with Nott came rushing back to me. The Dark Lord wanted something in the Department, and Dumbledore was trying to protect whatever it was. It seemed the conflict was escalating… No one was safe. Not from the Dark Lord.

"Tell Dad to go back to Japan," I said.

"W-what?" Astoria was crying, and she could barely get the word out.

"People involved in the Department of Mysteries are dying!" My voice was high-pitched. "Arthur Weasley attacked, and now Mister Bode… Dad's an Unspeakable! You think he's safe if he's in England? If he's anywhere near the Department…"

Astoria must not have considered this. She raised her trembling hands to her mouth and suddenly her whole body was shaking. Tracey flew from her spot by the door to wrap her arms around Astoria's shoulders.

"It'll be all right…" whispered Tracey. "He'll go to the funeral, and then he'll return to Japan. You know your Dad never stays in England long."

Astoria continued weeping as Tracey stroked her head and murmured about how our dad would be all right. Pansy remained seated on one of the desks with her arms crossed as if holding herself together. Nott remained rooted in the doorway. His hands hung limp at his sides, and he simply stared at me. When I met his gaze, he winced. Guilt reflected in his dark eyes, and even though I was the one grieving, I wanted to give him a hug and tell him that he was in no way responsible for the actions of his father. But then, I felt Blaise's arms coil around me, and I turned to bury my face against his chest.

Only last semester I'd been joking about our supposed future career paths as Death Eaters, but now…the humor had disappeared. I felt as if I'd grown more in the last month than I had in my first four years of Hogwarts combined.

The Dark Lord really had returned.

* * *

Astoria and I got the day off classes for Broderick Bode's funeral. We received special permission from Dumbledore to travel by floo network to Liverpool where the ceremony was being held.

This was my first funeral, and all I could think was that there should be more people. Bode's parents stood huddled together, his mother's wrinkled hand clutching a handkerchief as she sobbed for her son. Three Unspeakables were present besides my dad. Shadows traced their eyes as they listened to Bode's father give the eulogy, and they waved their wands to lower the coffin into the ground. Bode's ex-wife showed up late. Her eyes were red, and I thought it was nice that she still cared.

Astoria and I saw our dad cry for the second time in our lives after Bode's coffin had been buried in the ground. He tried to hide it, bending his head forward so that his dark hair fell into his eyes. The tremble in his shoulders gave him away.

My sister held onto Dad's arm as she escorted him to the reception. He tried not to lean on her. He tried to walk upright, but I don't think he would have made it to the hall if it hadn't been for Astoria.

I followed them, my head bowed slightly. As always, I was a useless older sister, and Astoria was the one who had to take on the burden of our parents. She was the dutiful daughter, the one who found it in her heart to care for them despite their faults. I wished, not for the first time, that I could be more like her.

Outside the reception hall, the three Unspeakables stood in a group. They reminded me of my dad. Not because their appearances were similar, but because they all had the same gaunt, guarded expressions.

I had met all three of them before. Saul Croaker was a tall, balding man. He'd come to Dad's birthday party many years ago and had knelt on the ground to introduce himself to Astoria and me. I vaguely remembered someone telling me that he studied Time Turners. Next to him was Erzebet Monkstanley, descended from the witch who invented the Wand-Illuminating Charm. Her thick, black hair curled around her face as she listened to the third Unspeakable, muggleborn David Hunt, speak in a quick, low voice.

If I was someone with common sense, I would have ignored them. Everyone knew Unspeakables were best left alone. But my curiosity won out in the end. And as I approached, I kept my head down. Their voices were little more than whispers, and I only caught snippets.

"…still investigating…"

"…teapot…"

"They said Imperius…"

"…right after the snake."

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept walking. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible until I'd entered the hall, and the Unspeakables were far behind me.

Imperius? As in the Imperius Curse? But how was that related to Broderick Bode? Unless his "incident" had been related to the Imperius Curse. So that's why aurors were involved in the investigation. Dark magic had led to Bode ending up in St. Mungo's, and now aurors had to investigate why someone would cast an Imperius Curse on an Unspeakable.

Snakes in the Department of Mysteries. The Imperius Curse cast on an Unspeakable. Devil's Snare disguised as Flutterbloom. The answer was obvious, but of course, Fudge was willfully blind to the truth. That willful blindness was going to cost the Ministry.

My thoughts were interrupted when Bode's parents came to speak to Astoria and me. I smiled at them and pushed my questions to the back of my mind. Mister and Madam Bode remembered us sisters from when we visited their Hippogriff stables. As Astoria and I recalled some of our memories of Bode, I noticed tears starting to well up in his mother's eyes. Bode had divorced before he could have children.

After the reception, Dad told us he would be spending the next six months in Japan. He received the assignment from the Ministry two days ago. For the first time in our lives, Astoria and I were glad our father would be gone for so long. We said our goodbyes to him before stepping into the cold hearth, throwing a handful of floo powder and saying, "Dumbledore's office".

* * *

Three weeks later, on Sunday, the 8th of February, I woke to the sound of four voices crying, "Happy Birthday", and I knew that I was truly a year older.

I opened my eyes to find my dormmates standing over my four-poster bed. Georgina, Millicent, and Tracey still wore their pajamas, while Pansy was already in full make-up and dressed for the day. They all smiled down at me, and I noticed that Tracey held a flat, rectangular gift wrapped in green paper.

Birthdays were the few times a year when I could truly call myself friends with Georgina and Millicent. My group preferred to keep to ourselves, and Georgina and Millicent spent most of their time with their sixth-year friends. But ever since second year, when Georgina hadn't been able to celebrate her thirteen birthday properly because of the basilisk slithering around school, we'd started waking each other up with greetings and a gift on our birthdays.

"Another year older, another year wiser," said Georgina as Tracey handed me the present.

"Definitely not wiser," said Millicent.

I snorted. "I'm still wiser than you."

"It took us forever to decide what to get you this year," said Tracey before we could start bickering.

I tugged on the wrapping paper until it slid free to reveal a box that looked suspiciously like it held clothes.

"Thankfully," said Pansy, who had settled on the end of my bed, "you agreed to a date with Adrian. It made things much easier."

Lifting the lid off the box revealed that I'd been right; they had gotten me clothes. It was a long-sleeved lavender dress with a neckline lower than I would've chosen for myself and a pleated skirt.

"What do you think?" asked Tracey. "Did we do well?"

"Georgina picked it out," added Millicent. "She said that was your color."

I had no idea if lavender was my color or not, but I smiled up at my dormmates. "Thank you. I hope the date goes well too."

"The dress will help," said Pansy.

Silently, I hoped that Adrian wouldn't care all too much about what I wore and liked me for my sparkling personality. But well, I guess it would be nice to look pretty for my first date.

"Any birthday plans?" asked Georgina.

"Homework," I said with a laugh.

Millicent and Georgina seemed a little disappointed, but what else could I do when my birthday landed on a Sunday. Still, it was better than Tracey whose birthday had been on a Tuesday this year, and she'd had to sit through double Transfiguration with McGonagall first thing in the morning.

"Blaise and Nott are planning to steal some cake and butterbeer from the kitchens," said Pansy.

"Don't spoil the surprise!" cried Tracey. Then she sighed and looked at me. "Act surprised when Blaise and Nott show up with the butterbeer."

I laughed. "Will do."

The girls let me get out of bed and get dressed for the day. One upside to a Sunday birthday was that I didn't have to wear the school uniform all day. I pulled on some jeans and a black sweater and actually applied some makeup before heading out to the common room. My friends waited for me, standing around one of the fireplaces and talking in low voices. When they caught sight of me, the boys greeted me with "Happy birthday!"

"The baby of the group is finally sixteen," said Nott. I stuck out my tongue. He laughed and handed over a small gift which hand the words "To: Daph, From: Blaise and Theo" scrawled on it in Nott's messy writing.

It turned out to be a necklace with a little silver hippogriff dangling from the chain. Nott explained that it was for my date, and Blaise grumpily added that Pansy had insisted they buy it. I didn't tell them what hippogriffs meant to me, and I bit back tears as I thanked them.

After dropping the gift off on my bed, the five of us headed to the first floor for breakfast. Upon entering the Great Hall, I found myself face to face with Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. All three wished me a happy birthday, and of course, we made a few jokes at Draco's expense about him still being fifteen. Once they'd left, Sue and Stephen came over to give me their present. We stood in the entranceway for a few minutes, complaining about the mountain of homework we'd been given this weekend. Finally, Pansy whined that the Slytherin table and breakfast were just meters away, and we said goodbye to Sue and Stephen.

We had almost made it to the Slytherin table (and breakfast) when a tall girl stepped in our path. She had long, straight hair and big, dark brown eyes that were slightly too far apart. She was pretty but not obviously so like Pansy or Cho Chang. I had no clue who the girl was, so I figured she wasn't there to wish me a happy birthday.

"Excuse me," she said with a small smile. "I was wondering if I could have a word with Theodore…"

I don't know what was more shocking: the fact that she'd used Nott's first name or the fact that Nott knew a girl outside of Slytherin house. I turned to look at Nott, but judging by his wide eyes, he didn't know the girl any more than I did.

"Sorry," she said with a nervous smile. "I'm Helen Dawlish, sixth-year Ravenclaw."

"Nice to meet you," said Tracey.

My gaze shifted to the Ravenclaw table where I could see Cho Chang and her group of giggling girls watching us curiously. Cho wore a slight frown, like she didn't approve, but the red-headed girl on her left had a wide grin. A sinking feeling formed in my stomach. Sue's words flashed through my mind: _The girls were talking about it all night. Slytherin boys are hot right now_.

Dawlish looked pale as her eyes flickered from Tracey to Nott to me and then back to Nott. She kept fidgeting, her fingers joining together and then breaking apart. Her face grew redder with each passing second.

"I don't mind," said Nott. He took a step back but then glanced over at me. "Is it all right with you, birthday girl?"

I opened my mouth but found that words wouldn't come out.

"It's your birthday?" asked Dawlish. She smiled at me despite her nerves. "Happy birthday."

I nodded. What else could I do? She seemed nice. Nott seemed willing to hear her out. How could I be the heartless cow who told them, "No, it's my birthday. Don't take Nott away."?

"Don't keep him too long," said Tracey with a barely suppressed giggle. "We need him for the birthday celebration."

Nott shot her a venomous glare before following Helen Dawlish out of the Great Hall. I watched until the doors closed behind them. They were both tall and thin, with only a few centimeters separating their heights. Nott's hair was a lighter shade of brown than hers. From the back, they already looked like a couple.

"Nott's going to get a girlfriend," said Pansy gleefully.

"She was pretty too," said Tracey.

As Pansy led the way to the Slytherin table, I frowned at her. "You don't know for certain she wants to ask him out."

"Of course that's what she wanted," said Pansy, rolling her eyes at me. "Did you not see how nervous she was? And her eyes were practically glowing whenever she looked at Nott. She's a hundred-and-ten-percent into him."

"No accounting for taste," said Blaise with a shrug.

We settled in our seats, and I turned to Blaise and said, "You know not every girl is going to fall for you."

Blaise glowered at me over the plates of breakfast foods.

Pansy laughed. "Blaise can't believe a girl wouldn't fall for his good looks."

"You know," said Tracey, "if you keep rejecting the girls who ask you out, they're going to move on to greener pastures."

"Nott has his own charms," said Pansy, nodding.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and I looked over to see a group of Hufflepuff underclassmen heading towards their table.

"Sue said the Ravenclaw girls were into bad boy Slytherins right now," I said as I reached across the table to grab myself some toast.

Tracey scoffed. "For all their brains, the Ravenclaws have no sense."

Their conversation drifted away to school work, and I found myself picking at the food on my plate. Maybe Helen Dawlish wasn't asking Nott out. Maybe she had something to say after the Nanette Desford incident. Maybe he'd lost something and she was returning it. Though I couldn't imagine why she wouldn't just return it in front of us. Maybe…

I heard footsteps behind me and I twisted my body to see Nott standing over me. He seemed the same as usual, but Nott had never been one for showing excess emotion. If I hadn't known, I never would've guessed that he'd just been called out by Helen Dawlish.

I scooted closer to Blaise so Nott could take the seat next to me. He didn't speak right away, instead serving himself some pancakes and syrup.

"Well?" asked Tracey. "What happened?"

Nott hesitated. "She asked me to Hogsmeade. I said yes."

Tracey and Pansy grinned at each other.

"Looks like Blaise is going to be all alone on Valentine's Day," said Tracey.

"You should've said 'yes' to one of the girls who asked you out," said Pansy.

"Shoma Ichikawa is really pretty," added Tracey. "I can't believe you said no."

"I wouldn't have wanted to go with any of those giggling twits not matter how pretty." Blaise shot a glare in my direction, and I knew he was still a little mad that I'd abandoned the singles club for Hogsmeade with Pucey.

I ducked my head, but I refused to feel guilty.

"Aren't Shoma Ichikawa and Helen Dawlish friends?" asked Pansy.

"You and Nott could have gone on a double date for Valentine's Day!" cried Tracey. "Wouldn't that be cute? The four of you crammed around a table in Madam Puddifoot's?"

"How romantic," said Pansy with an exaggerated sigh.

"Look at Nott and Daphne going on their first dates," said Tracey. "It's only our stubborn Blaise who refuses to grow up."

Pansy grinned. "It's not too late, Blaise. I know Moaning Myrtle doesn't have date yet."

"I don't think she can make it to Hogsmeade," said Nott.

"Blaise can just spend Valentine's Day in the girls' lavatory," said Pansy. "Everyone else will be at Hogsmeade enjoying their dates so it's not like he has to worry about some girl stumbling upon him."

Blaise looked ready to stab someone's eye out with his fork. I carefully removed the silverware from his reach, and he turned that ferocious glare on me.

With a sweet smile, I said, "It's my birthday."

He couldn't stay mad at me after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to rant about something for a minute. In case you haven't noticed, I'm very meticulous in my planning. (I'm even worse when writing my original fiction than I am in my fanfiction.) I have documents that list my characters' timetables so I don't get confused. I have documents that detail facts about random Hogwarts students. I have documents that say what is going to happen in every chapter of this story. Basically, everything is planned out carefully.
> 
> But J.K. Rowling doesn't work like that. She doesn't make a timetable for her characters, and the classes are inconsistent in the books. To this day, I still do not understand how, with Rowling's schedule, Hermione took all her classes, let alone how some people took twelve OWLs. And if you look up the calendar for Harry Potter, you'll see that Rowling changes time to make dates work like she wants them to. In 1996, Valentine's Day fell on a Tuesday. I repeat: Valentine's Day in Harry Potter's fifth year should be on a Tuesday! Not during the Hogsmeade visit! That's - not - right!
> 
> Oh well. I can only do so much. I'll accept Rowling's ability to bend time, and the Hogsmeade Valentine's Day visit will take place on a Saturday. But just so y'all know, I'm grinding my teeth through every minute of it.


	15. A Girl's Got To Get Kissed Sometime

**Chapter Fifteen: A Girl's Got To Get Kissed Sometime**

I stared at myself in the full-length mirror beside Millicent's bed and, for the first time in my life, thought that I might be considered pretty. Maybe being sixteen instead of fifteen had finally turned me into a woman. Maybe the change was due to the lavender dress my dormmates had bought me. Maybe the black ankle boots and gray tights showed the curves in my legs that I hadn't even known existed. Maybe the hours Pansy had spent straightening my hair had helped highlight the strong lines of my face. Maybe Tracey's expert make-up skills were what brought out my dark eyes and made my lips seem fuller. For certain, I was nowhere near Pansy's level of pretty, and next to someone like Cho Chang, I was still extremely forgettable. But, well, it was nice to see I was growing up.

"Don't you look smashing," said Georgina from the end of her bed. She was also preparing for a Valentine's Day date, but unlike me, who had been raised by parents who accepted and sometimes preferred muggle clothing, Georgina wore pastel blue dress robes.

"You look pretty good yourself," I said.

"As long as Cassius likes it," said Millicent from her own bed. She was still dressed in her plaid pajamas and had _Witch Weekly_ open in front of her. She gave Georgina a knowing smirk over the top of the magazine.

I blinked unable to hide my surprise. I hadn't known Georgina fancied Cassius Warrington.

Georgina must have read my mind, because she shook her head. "He asked me, and I figured I might as well say yes. It's not every year the winter Hogsmeade visit falls on Valentine's Day."

I stopped checking myself out in the mirror and moved to sit on the end of my bed. I was afraid to wrinkle my dress, so I made sure the pleated skirt was in order before settling neatly on the mattress. I wished Tracey and Pansy would hurry back from breakfast; I didn't dare venture out to the common room without them. Glancing over at Georgina, I asked, "So you're, uh, not going to date him?"

Georgina wrinkled her nose. "Merlin, no. Cassius and I are just friends. We might snog a bit, but we're not each other's type."

"Hogwarts is such a small school," said Millicent. "If you snog too many of the blokes here, Georgie, it's bound to end up coming back to haunt you."

While I didn't know all the boys Georgina had snogged over the years, I knew her first kiss had been Ian Urquhart in our third year. She had come running up to the girls' dorm to tell us the news. She was the first of my dormmates to kiss someone and also the first to date someone. She and Ian had wound up going out for a year and a half. They'd finally ended things after the Yule Ball, and Georgina had rebounded by snogging Fergus Cowley under some mistletoe. If there'd been more boys after that (and I was sure there were), Georgina had stopped sharing the news with me.

Millicent had also had her first kiss already. It'd been after one of celebration parties for the Triwizard Tournament. The situation had been less than romantic, however, considering both Millicent and Thomas McGruder had consumed a little too much firewhiskey. Still, the fact remained that I was the only girl in our dorm room that hadn't undergone the trial of her first kiss. Tracey's had been fourth year when she'd gone on a date to Hogsmeade with the girl from Durmstrang, and Pansy's had been third year when she'd agreed to go for a walk on the grounds with Niles Hanley during one of her sworn-off-Draco phases.

"Our dating pool is so limited," whined Georgina as she slipped on knee-high black boots over her wool stockings.

"Are you still mad Ian's going with Sadie to Hogsmeade?" asked Millicent.

Georgina gave a little pout. She was third prettiest girl in our year after Pansy and Lisa Turpin. Georgina knew exactly how pretty she was, and she used that knowledge to its full effect. "I get it, I get it," she said. "I know it's hard to find a bloke outside of Slytherin who will ask one of us out on a date, but still, you'd think she'd have the decency not to date my ex."

Because Pansy was interested in boys, Tracey was interested in girls, and I was too scared to date anyone, my friend group didn't have much conflict when it came to our romantic lives. But Georgina and Millicent hung out with the sixth-year girls, and from what I knew, a lot of drama went down between them and the sixth-year boys.

"Isn't Nott going to Hogsmeade with a sixth-year Ravenclaw?" asked Georgina.

The sudden change in topic threw me and I managed a weak "Uh, yes."

"And _she_ asked _him_ out?" Millicent looked a little red in the face, and I remembered that she'd fancied him for over a year now.

"Blaise was asked out by a couple Ravenclaws too," I said. "Apparently the girls there are going through their bad boy phases."

Georgina rolled her eyes. "Not all Slytherins are bad boys."

Millicent giggled. "Just most of them."

The two girls grinned at one another, sharing some secret I wasn't privy to.

I fought the urge to sigh. It seemed my dormmates were in their bad boy phases as well.

I was saved from any more of this madness by the return of Pansy and Tracey. My friends had gotten up early that morning to prepare for the day. Pansy wore a black wool dress over flower-patterned tights, while Tracey, her hair done up in tight curls, had on black pants and a tight red sweater. They both looked immaculate.

They pranced into our dorm room, carrying pastries for the rest of us. Pansy had kindly made an exception to my diet in honor of my first date, and I helped myself to a blueberry scone. The five of us spent another hour in the dorm room, eating pastries and perfecting our outfits. Then, those of us going to Hogsmeade grabbed our winter cloaks and headed for the common room. As I ascended the stone steps, I already felt like throwing up. If it hadn't been for Pansy and Georgina on either side of me, I probably would have run back to the dorm and buried myself under the covers.

Blaise was sprawled out in one of the leather armchairs, the _Daily Prophet_ open in his lap. He looked up when we approached and then gave our outfits all once-overs. "Pansy, Tracey, you must be tired from having to wake up early to do Daph's hair and make-up for her."

Pansy laughed, while I indignantly cried, "How do you know I didn't do this myself?"

Blaise didn't even justify that with an answer.

"Where's Nott?" I asked. He was supposed to come with us to the Great Hall.

"He met up with Helen a half hour ago," said Blaise.

Pansy gave a dramatic sigh. "They're so smitten, and they haven't even had their first date yet."

Georgina frowned a little, and I knew she felt bad for her best friend's unrequited love.

"Well, Blaise?" Tracey gave a little twirl so he could see her full outfit. "What do you think?"

"You all look good," said Blaise. There was a hint of grumpiness in his voice.

"You sound so sincere," said Tracey with a wicked grin. She looked at me expectantly, like I was supposed to do something about Blaise's bad attitude.

I stayed silent. Blaise was annoyed that I'd ditched him for a date, and because I had no desire to cancel my date for Blaise, there was nothing I could do to appease him. The boy was just going to have to remain grumpy and bitter all Valentine's Day. Maybe I'd bring him back some dark chocolate from Honeydukes.

We said our goodbyes to Blaise and headed for the Great Hall. A crowd of students had already gathered in the foyer, and with each step closer, I felt my chest start to tighten. Nope. I wasn't allowed to flee. As much as my gut was telling me to run away, my head kept me moving forward. I wasn't allowed to flee.

The foyer was filled with students, but it was easy to make out who the nervous couples were. Through the crowds of people waiting to sign out with Filch, I caught sight of Jon Harper and my sister holding hands, and a little in front of them, I saw Anthony Goldstein talking to a very red-in-the-face Katie Bell. I briefly wondered if fifth-year Goldstein and sixth-year Bell had met through Potter's secret club, but I didn't dwell on the thought long. Sue and Stephen waved at me before they headed outside to the carriages, and I waved back. I couldn't see Nott and Helen Dawlish anywhere. The Slytherin It Couple, who had been together since they were third years, Head Boy Andrew Runcorn and dueling champion Poonima Shah whispered to each other, oblivious of the world around them. Behind them in the queue, I spotted Harry Potter and Cho Chang. They shifted about, sending each other nervous glances, and I remembered that Potter was an awkward teenager just like the rest of us.

There were also groups of friends who'd decided to visit Hogsmeade together. I saw Hannah hanging out with her usual Hufflepuff crew—Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith—minus Susan Bones who seemed to be missing. Cho's group of sixth year girls chatted excitedly as they passed, though Edgecombe looked slightly put out without Cho around. I overheard a joke about the friends being each other's dates, and I smiled as I remembered last year where Sue had promised to dump Stephen for the day so she could be my valentine.

Sadie Baldock and Thalassa Kenner, both sixth year Slytherins, came over to greet Georgina. As she hugged Sadie, Georgina eyed Ian Urquhart. The boy had common sense enough to hang back and not get in the middle of any drama. To my relief, Sadie and Thalassa dragged Georgina off to find her date, and I was left with just my friends. The tightness in my chest was easier to handle when I was only with Pansy and Tracey.

"Diane!" Tracey called out the name in an almost singsong voice. I looked over to see her giving a quick hug to a long-faced girl in elegant gray robes. Diane was definitely Tracey's type. The Durmstrang girl had also been tall and dark with a clever glint to her eyes.

"Are you ready to face the cold?" asked Tracey, casually slipping her hand into Diane's.

I saw some fourth year Slytherins send disapproving glances in the two girls' direction.

"We're not out of school grounds yet," said Diane in what I thought was a joking tone. "If you're not careful, the High Inquisitor will catch us."

"The Educational Decree says that boys and girls are not permitted to be within ten millimeters of each other," said Tracey. "That doesn't apply to us."

Diane laughed, and Tracey, with a quick wave to Pansy and me, left us for her date. The students parted around them, but Tracey either didn't notice or stubbornly ignored any stares she was receiving.

"I hope she has fun," said Pansy. There was a slight frown on her lips as she watched Tracey disappear into the crowd of students.

"Why wouldn't she?" I asked.

"Never mind." Pansy turned to me with a big smile. "Let's find your date!"

And the nauseous feeling was back.

It wasn't too late to feign illness. I was feeling kind of sick. I could slip back to the common room and Pansy could tell Adrian I threw up or something. Though, I'd be a cow for abandoning someone on Valentine's Day. Maybe I could pretend we were just going as friends—

"Adrian, over here!" Pansy motioned to someone behind me.

Gritting my teeth, hoping I didn't look too pale, I turned to face my date.

"Hello, Daphne." Adrian smiled. Until that moment, I hadn't been thankful enough that my first date ever was with Number Nine of the Hogwarts' Fittest List. His smile was radiant. "You look pretty."

I glanced down at my lavender dress and then back up at him. "Thank you. And, uh, hello to you too, Adrian." Smooth, real smooth.

He grinned at me, showing off his dimples, and said, "Should we get going?"

"Yes. Let's." I almost bumped into him in my haste to join the queue. "I'm glad you, uh, like the dress. My dormmates got it for my birthday. And the hippogriff necklace. The boys got me that." I lifted the little silver necklace to Adrian could see it properly. He frowned slightly, but I kept prattling on. "They got it because I like hippogriffs. That was the only time I wished I'd taken Care of Magical Creatures—when I heard Hagrid brought hippogriffs to class." I stopped myself. I was being a little brat, talking on and on about myself. "And how have you been?"

Adrian blinked, looking a little surprised at the shift in topic. "Good. I, uh, I've mainly been busy with Quidditch."

"The Slytherin team has a good chance of winning this year," I said. I didn't follow Quidditch all that carefully, but I'd been forced to listen to Pansy and Tracey talk about Slytherin's odds of winning the Cup yesterday. Now I was grateful.

"We're doing all right—"

"You got Daph talking about Quidditch?"

I knew that voice. I looked over and sure enough, Pansy was beside us with her date, Holden Ledbury, in tow. Holden was a good-looking bloke who had missed the Fittest List by a hair.

"Just a little," said Adrian.

"I hear the Gryffindor Quidditch team are staying behind to practice," said Pansy with a cackle. "Not that it'll help them."

Adrian gave her a polite smile. "Shame what happened to Potter and the Weasley twins—the Gryffindor team was set to be great this year."

Pansy opened her mouth and closed it before finally settling on a pout.

Adrian turned to me and added, "If we do win the house cup this year, it won't be because we were the best team."

I smiled at him. I appreciated his honesty. It made a refreshing change from the rest of the insufferable Slytherin Quidditch gang.

Pansy then hijacked our conversation, and rather than talking to my date, I found myself arguing the merits of learning Ancient Runes with Holden. He seemed to think there was no purpose to learning a dead language, while I explained as best I could that most incantations were rooted in Ancient Runes. The debate came to an end only after we'd signed out and had to stop talking as we bundled ourselves up to prepare for the weather outside.

Thalassa and Rachel Everett caught up with us just before we got into a carriage and asked if they could share. There was no good reason to refuse, so the journey to Hogsmeade ended up filled with Pansy, Thalassa, and Rachel talking loudly about some gossip concerning a famous pureblood singer, called Viola or Violet or something like that, marrying a muggle in secret. Holden made disgusted faces now and again but said very little, while Adrian and I sat in silence, squished together in the corner of the carriage.

It was a relief when we finally got to Hogsmeade. As the six of us headed up the snowy road to the village, I felt my irritation growing. Usually, I liked Pansy, but listening to her brag to Thalassa and Rachel about her family's manor, I found her grating on my verves.

And then, we saw Potter and Chang making their way to the village. They seemed to have finally gotten over their initial nervousness; Chang chattered on about something, and Potter listened to her with a smile.

Of course, Pansy couldn't just leave the awkward couple alone.

"Potter and Chang!" screeched Pansy. The effect was immediate. Thalassa and Rachel started giggling, while Potter's face turned beet red. Pansy cackled at that and said, "Urg, Chang, I don't think much of your taste…at least Diggory was good-looking!"

Thankfully, Pansy had the decency to leave Potter and Chang alone after that one comment. I think the cold stopped her from saying more. She picked up the pace and sped past the couple with Thalassa, Rachel, and Holden hurrying after her. Thalassa and Rachel threw sneering looks in the direction of Potter before they caught up with Pansy and started a conversation that no doubt had to do with Chang's poor taste in men.

I hung back, hoping that Pansy wouldn't notice I was gone. She usually wasn't this bad when she hung out with our friend group, and I sometimes I forgot that when she was with other Slytherins she fell back into the whole purebloods-are-the-best routine.

"You all right?" Adrian, his hands shoved into the pockets of his winter cloak and his nose red from the cold, walked next to me.

"Uh, yes. Sorry about that. Pansy is… She's…"

"I understand," said Adrian. And he did.

We had reached the edge of Hogsmeade. The cobblestone streets had been cleared of snow, but thick layers of white powder still rested on the roofs of the three-story brick buildings. The main street stretched before us, filled with Hogwarts students enjoying their visit.

"Shall we enjoy our, uh, date?" I asked, trying to smile.

Adrian grinned down at me. "Yes."

Visiting Hogsmeade with a date wasn't that different from visiting Hogsmeade with my friends. We walked through the streets as snow began to lightly fall, talking about classes, professors, school gossip, our lives before Hogwarts, our plans for after Hogwarts, and unfortunately, Quidditch. Adrian tended to use Quidditch metaphors to describe everything, and I didn't want to ruin our date by telling him that I couldn't care less. Sometimes I could follow along his Quidditch talk, but when he started talking about obscure moves like the Woollongong Shimmy and the Porskoff Ploy, I was completely lost.

When we passed by the Wizarding Wireless Network Headquarters, Adrian complained about the program "Toots, Shoots 'n' Roots", and I debated ending the date right then and there. I loved listening to the meager and inappropriate questions listeners sent in for the host to answer.

As we passed by Dervish and Bangs, I noticed a poster had been pasted on the gray-brick wall. The gaunt faces of the ten escaped Death Eaters looked out as I passed. The poster offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information leading to the recapture of any of the convicts. My uncle leered out from the poster, but I knew better to admit aloud that he was related to me. I'd learned my lesson. Besides, even though some professors came to chaperone, there was less rule enforcement off Hogwarts' grounds, and someone could do far worse than Nanette Desford in the streets of Hogsmeade while everyone else was distracted by the shopping.

Adrian and I avoided the herbology store, Dogweed and Deathcap, swearing one of the self-fertilizing shrubs had glared at us through the windows. We stopped by Honeydukes to gorge ourselves on some sweets. I debated buying some chocolates for Blaise, but when I mentioned it to Adrian, he looked none too pleased and I decided not to. In Dominic Maestro's Music Shop, I showed off my limited ability to play the harpsicord (something almost every Sacred Twenty-Eight kid was forced to learn). I ranted to Adrian about the nonsensical traditions of the Sacred Twenty-Eight until we left the store. As we continued down the street, I realized Adrian might not want to hear my ramblings. I fell into silence, and soon the conversation drifted back to Quidditch.

We were on our way to see the Shrieking Shack when Adrian held my hand for the first time.

I almost let go in surprise when, as we walked, he caught my hand in his. We were both wearing our gray school gloves, but I could feel the pressure of his hand as he curled his fingers around mine. The silver and green scarf covered my bright red face, and I kept my eyes fixed on the street where snow had begun to pile onto the cobblestones.

Up until that point, it'd really felt like we were two friends wandering through Hogsmeade. Perhaps I'd been slightly more self-conscious than I would've been with Sue and Stephen, but overall, I'd been comfortable. Now, suddenly, I could stop fidgeting. I was very aware that I was walking through Hogsmeade, holding hands with this tall, good-looking bloke who—for some reason—had a romantic interest in me.

Why?

I hadn't realized I'd voiced my question until Adrian asked, "Why what?"

"Oh, uh." I quickly glanced at our hands and then mumbled, "Why did you ask me out?"

Adrian didn't answer right away, and when I glanced over at him, his face was the color of beets.

"You don't have to answer!" I said quickly. "Sorry! It was a stupid question. It just sort of slipped out."

The color faded a little, and Adrian smiled at me, showing his dimples. "I don't mind." Despite his confident tone, he hesitated a little before saying, "Actually, uh, last year after the whole maze incident, I overheard you talking to your friends about how you thought it was disrespectful to Cedric Diggory's memory to think Potter killed him. And, uh, I don't know I thought you were someone worth knowing."

I blinked in surprise. It'd been such a small moment. I'd been upset over Diggory's death and had spent the night before bawling my eyes out. To think someone would've heard me and thought I was worth knowing… A smile worked its way onto my face. "I think you're someone worth knowing too—"

A shrill shriek interrupted my words, and Adrian and I looked up the winding path to see five female figures. Other than them and us, there was no one else on the trail to the Shrieking Shack, and the five of them were gathered together in the shadow of a huge pine tree. It clearly wasn't a friendly meeting. Three of the figures were much bigger than the other two, and the tallest of the three was pointing her wand at the smaller girls.

As we drew closer, I recognized the older girls as some of the seventh year Slytherins who usually hung out with Zoe Accrington. I couldn't recall the names of the tall one with her wand out or the small, black-haired girl next to her, but I did know the round-faced Jeanne Selwyn. Judging by their size and uniforms, the two smaller girls were third year Gryffindors. The ginger-haired girl stood in front of the Slytherins, hands curled into fists at her sides, while her friend lay on the snow-covered ground, legs dancing madly.

"Clean the dirt from your veins before you try chasing after Slytherin boys," scoffed the Slytherin ringleader. With a flick of her wand, she cast a nonverbal spell, causing the snow beneath the girl to transform into thick, brown mud.

"Mary!" shrieked the ginger-haired Gryffindor as tears started to well up in her friend's eyes.

Before I could even fully process what was happening, Adrian had released my hand and started walking closer to the group of girls. "Stop it, Abby."

Relief flashed across the two Gryffindor girls faces as they turned to see their rescuer, but the emotion vanished as quickly as it'd come when they saw Adrian's silver and green scarf.

The ringleader lowered her wand as she glowered at Adrian. "Are you here to be the white robed wizard again?"

Jeanne glanced past Adrian at me and said, "Or are you just showing off?"

The tiny black-haired girl scowled as she looked from Adrian to me and back.

"Neither," said Adrian. With two flicks of his wand, Adrian undid the jelly-legs jinx and transfigured the mud back into snow. "Look, Abby, just leave the poor girls alone. What did they ever do to you?"

Abby pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder at her black-haired friend. Then, her gaze swept over me. I don't know what I'd done personally to wrong her, but I was pretty sure it was me she'd rather jinx. Finally, she said, "Don't be dumb, Adrian. It's more the fact that they exist, you know."

Mary stumbled to her feet, and her friend caught her hand. The two of them stood together, trembling as they watched the seventh years fight over whether the girls deserved to be hexed or not. I wanted to drag them away from Abby and her friends, buy them some chocolates from Honeydukes, and apologize for the idiots in my house. But I didn't move. I was rooted to the spot, watching Adrian argue with his classmates.

The hand holding his wand was trembling as Adrian said, "If that's your reason, you're the one who's dumb. Besides, I heard you saying something about Slytherin boys."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Fine. Be a prat. If you must know, Yurika overheard them talking about which boys they thought were fit."

Adrian's jaw dropped. "And _that's_ why you decided to hex the girl? Because she thought some Slytherin boys were _fit_?"

Yurika had gone as white as the snow around her.

"A mudblood like her doesn't even have the right to look at Blaise Zabini," said Jeanne. "Mudbloods should learn their place."

"And stick with their own kind," added Abby.

 _That_ snapped me out of my silence. The pieces of the story had fallen into place, and I realized that these two Gryffindors had been tormented because they'd dare say that they found Blaise Zabini fit—something anyone with half a brain would acknowledge. _Slytherin boys are hot right now._ Sue and Stephen really hadn't been kidding. A bubble of outrage grew in my chest as I glared at the three Slytherin girls. Not only had they bullied these two Gryffindors for merely expressing an opinion, but they'd were dragging my best friend's name through the dirt.

"Blaise wouldn't give a hippogriff shite if a muggleborn thought he was fit or not," I said. "And he'd be disgusted that anyone would use his name to bully others. Just because he's a Slytherin doesn't mean you own him."

All eyes snapped to me. I think they'd forgotten I was there until I'd opened my mouth. Jeanne glowered at me, and Yurika still looked as though she might faint. Mary's eyes had grown as big as saucers, while Adrian nodded along with my words.

Abby, however, barely listened to anything I'd said. With a snicker, she turned to Adrian and said, "Looks like you've got some tough competition there."

A scowl formed on Adrian's face but he only said, "Get out of here, Abby. Leave the girls alone."

The anger and laughter drained from her face and was replaced with something akin to fondness. It took me a moment to realize that despite their arguing, she was looking at Adrian with respect. Even though she'd called him a prat and was obviously mad, she appreciated that Adrian bothered to speak his mind. Abby nodded to her friends and said, "We should go."

Yurika nodded, and soon the three girls were making their way back up the curving path to Hogsmeade. I watched as Abby put her arm around Yurika's shoulder. Judging by the slight tremble in the smaller girl, Yurika might have been crying. Jeanne shot us a ferocious glare before the three of them turned a bend in the path and disappeared from sight.

I didn't feel anything like victory at them leaving. They hadn't learned their lesson or anything like that. No doubt the next time some defenseless younger students pissed them off, the girls would be right back to casting jinxes and calling others "mudbloods". But what else could I have done? Nothing I said was going to change those girls' minds.

While I was deep in thought, Adrian spoke to the third years. "Are you two all right?"

Mary nodded her head, while her friend said, "Of course, we're Gryffindors. We're not afraid of some arsehole Slytherins."

A grin crossed Adrian's face, and he looked over at me to share in his amusement. I managed a weak smile in return.

"What are your names?" asked Adrian.

"I'm Anna Mirfield," said the ginger-haired girl. "And this is Mary Doyle."

"Thank you for your help," said Doyle.

"We didn't expect a Slytherin to help us," added Mirfield.

"Of course, we'd help," said Adrian. He noticed some mud still on Doyle's cloak, and with a flick of his wand, he cleaned the cloak of all traces of dirt. "Just because we're from the same house doesn't mean we have to sit by silently and let them hurt people."

I really didn't think I should be included in this. Adrian had done all the work.

After a few more minutes, Doyle and Mirfield said thanks one more time before heading up the path back up to Hogsmeade. I hoped they didn't encounter Abby, Jeanne, and Yurika on their way. Even if the Slytherin girls left them alone, it would be an awkward meeting. Doyle and Mirfield seemed like good kids. They didn't need to be put through any of that.

"We should report them," I said.

"Who?"

I glanced over at Adrian. He was readjusting his wool cap, trying to brush some of the snow off it. With a slight frown, I said, "The Slytherin girls. We should report them to Snape."

"Why?" Adrian sounded genuinely confused. "They listened to us. They left. There's no reason to drag Professor Snape into this."

"But just because they listened to you this once doesn't mean they won't keep doing the same thing in future."

"Do you think giving them a couple weeks detention is going to stop them?" asked Adrian.

"Well, no." I shrugged. "But it might deter them a little next time."

"I know those girls, Daph," said Adrian. "There's no need to report them. It'll just take house points from Slytherin. They stopped when we asked them to. They'll stop the next time too. They don't really want to hurt anyone."

I wanted to fight him on this. I wanted to explain that if they didn't want house points taken from Slytherin then they shouldn't hex Gryffindors in the first place. I wanted to explain that he couldn't say "they don't really want to hurt anyone" when they'd just hexed a girl for finding someone fit. I wanted to explain so much… And if he had been Blaise or Nott, I would have. But Adrian wasn't them…and this was my first date. I wanted it to go well.

A hush descended upon us. The flakes had stopped falling, finally, and we stood, facing one another, surrounded by a blanket of snow and dark pine trees. I could see the blurred outline of path behind us, leading back to the village, and the path ahead of us, curving this way and that through the forest.

At last, Adrian broke the silence. "Come on." He extended his hand to me. "Let's go see the Shrieking Shack."

I took his hand, and together we walked the rest of the way down the path.

The Shrieking Shack was a staple of Hogsmeade. At least every Hogwarts student had stood at the wooden fence and look out across the grounds, over untamed bushes and overgrown trees, at the haunted house. With light snow falling around it, I could see what the shack had once been. Long ago, before the untreated walls had been left to splinter, the shingled roof had been allowed to crumble, and the windows had been closed with boards and nails, the house had no doubt been a happy home. Time and rot had corrupted it, and I felt a little sad that the house had lost what had made it beautiful.

There were plenty of rumors about the Shrieking Shack that floated around Hogwarts. In one story, a boggart had made the house its nest, and the howling came from students who were afraid of wolves. In another story, a Yeti had been imprisoned in there years ago, driven mad with hate for its captor. My personal favorite, that Hannah had told me, was that a Cornish pixie lived there and was having a good laugh at all the scared Hogwarts students. Probably what happened was some wild animal had gotten in years ago and made a lot of noise, but it was fun to imagine what could be.

Adrian and I stood on the safe side of the wooden fence. We were Slytherins after all. Many students had dared each other to cross the fence, trek through the overgrown yard, and touch the walls of the decrepit house. In fact, Sue and I had made Stephen do just that in our third year. He'd tried to act brave, but I still remembered that his eyes had been a little red when he'd come running back to us, swearing that he'd heard the clanging of the Yeti's chains.

"You were wicked cool back there," said Adrian suddenly.

Our hands were still intertwined, and I stared down at them. "Not really. I just got mad when they said those things about Blaise."

There was a pause, and then Adrian said, "You were defending your friend."

It might have just been me, but he put a lot of emphasis on the word "friend".

"Yes, well, we Slytherins look out for each other, isn't that one of our defining traits? 'In Slytherin, you'll make your real friends'." I quoted the Sorting Song from the one year that I'd put myself through listening to the Hat's off-key voice. I looked up at him and said, "I really admire that about you."

"Admire what?"

"I think people don't understand how hard it is to tell your friends when they're doing something wrong. You know it's going to disrupt your friend group and might even ruin some friendships for good, but you know what's wrong and you always try to stop your friends from doing wrong. And they respect you for it." I gave one-shoulder shrug. "I do too. And, uh, I wish I was a little more like that."

Adrian's face was red again. So was mine. It'd just come to my head. I'd hadn't planned on saying it, but the thought was there, and I didn't always have a filter—

He kissed me.

I hadn't expected it, and the sudden feel of his cold lips against mine made me jump backwards. My left foot hit a slippery spot in the snow, and I grabbed onto the sleeve of his winter cloak just as he caught my arms to stop me from falling, which left the two of standing there, our arms intertwined and our gazes awkwardly locked.

Adrian quickly let go. "Sorry."

"I'm sorry," I said, my gaze dropping to the ground. "You surprised me."

"No, I shouldn't have—"

"No, really. I didn't mean to." My stomach flipped. Moving forward. That's what this date was about. I didn't want to end up stuck in one place, refusing to move out of fear. A girl's got to get kissed sometime, and I might as well do it now. I lifted my eyes to his and said, "You caught me off guard, that's all. Try again."

Adrian's eyes widened ever so slightly, and then a grin made its way onto his face. "As you command."

His kissed me again. This time, there was no jumping on my part. His mouth was cold at first but that sensation quickly went away. My head felt foggy as the feeling of the biting winter air faded. All I could feel was his mouth on mine, my hands resting on his arms, and the material of his glove brushing against my jaw. Somewhere, in the back of my mind I remembered that this was my first kiss, and that it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. Somewhere beyond that drifted the thought that it wasn't as great as I thought it'd be either.

* * *

It was around five o'clock in the afternoon when Adrian and I returned to the Slytherin common room. We had come back between the rushes. The people who had endured bad dates had already returned and headed to the Great Hall for dinner, while the couples who had enjoyed their Hogsmeade trips were staying out later. As a result, there were only a handful of people in the common room. A group of second years who I vaguely remembered as being part of the gobstones club, two seventh year girls who whispered furiously to one another, and one lone, curly haired girl.

I knew that girl. I knew the back of that head anywhere. What was Tracey doing back so early? And if she was here, why was she not with Blaise?

Despite our promise to grab dinner together, I said goodbye to Adrian outside the dorm rooms, saying there was something I had to do and gesturing towards Tracey. He would understand the sudden farewell; he knew how important my friends were to me.

I made my way across the common room to Tracey. She sat in one of the armchairs, her legs pulled up to ger chest and her face buried in her arms. Her dark, wavy hair fell about her shoulders, loose and wild. She looked every one of her sixteen years, and she also looked more like a child than I'd ever seen her before. Pansy's concern from this morning echoed back to me, and I wondered what Pansy knew that I didn't.

"Tracey?" I said her name tentatively, as if speaking too loudly would startle her.

She lifted her head from her arms and turned her red-rimmed eyes to me. My heart melted at the sight of her, and before I could think, I threw my arms around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"I don't know what happened," I said, "and you don't need to tell me, but you should know that I love you and I'm always here for you."

"I'm all right, Daph." Tracey patted my arm, a signal for me to release her. When I stepped back, she gave me a watery smile. "How was your date?"

"My date doesn't matter," I said, waving away her question. "What about you? Did Diane do something?"

"Don't let Adrian hear you say that." Tracey rubbed the bridge of her nose with her left hand and then said, "She didn't exactly do anything _wrong_. She was exactly how I should have expected her to be."

I settled into the chair next to Tracey. I didn't say anything; she would talk when she was ready.

"I told you what happened with Sheila," said Tracey. She kept her knees pulled up to her chest as she spoke. She didn't look at me, but at the patterned rug of varying shades of green. "She told her friends she only went out with a Slytherin because she had slim pickings."

"Yes."

"It was similar to that. Diane and I were getting along fine, but then, we were in Honeydukes, and I mentioned this chocolate my grandparents buy me for Christmas. When I told her it was muggle chocolate, she got this look in her eyes and said, 'I forgot you're the daughter of a mudblood.'" Tracey pulled a face, wrinkling her nose as she remembered. "Right then, I knew it was over."

"That cow," I said.

"But I feel like I shouldn't get mad at Diane." Tracey kept talking as if she hadn't heard me. "I call my mum a mudblood too. Not to her face. Never to her face. But as soon as I get to Hogwarts each year, everything changes and I find myself using that disgusting word because everyone else around me uses it. I shouldn't—I know I shouldn't—but I can't help it."

I winced as I remembered all the times I'd used the word in front Tracey. "Sorry."

"I know you lot don't mean it like that," said Tracey. We both hesitated for a second, because we both knew Pansy, sometimes, did meant it like that. Then, Tracey continued, "But I have to admit when I first heard you and Nott using 'muggleborn' instead, I was glad. I wish I could change myself that easily."

"It's not as hard as you think," I said. "Something like that just takes repetition. You're not going to be perfect one-hundred percent of the time, but if you keep trying and you keep correcting yourself, it'll become natural to you."

She looked skeptical.

"Sometimes it's that people don't know," I said. "Nott and I, we grew up hearing the word. Our parents, our grandparents, our aunts and uncles, they all use words like 'mudblood' and act like muggles are these underdeveloped beings. It's not true, and we learned that it's not true after we came to Hogwarts. But changing old habits is hard. It's a long process of trying and failing… But don't you think it's better to stop using that word? Especially when you know what it means to your mum?"

Tracey stared at me for a long moment, and then, slowly, a thin smile made its way onto her face. "And you'll help?"

"Of course. Nott too."

With a little laugh, Tracey leaned back in the chair. She rested her hands on the sides of her legs and asked, "What am I going to do?"

"About?"

"Life." Tracey let out a hollow laugh. "I've gone out with the only two openly gay girls at Hogwarts that would date me and both times went badly."

I wasn't up-to-date on who in Hogwarts was out of the closet and who wasn't, so I took Tracey's word for it. "This morning, Georgina and Millicent were complaining about how small the Hogwarts dating pool is," I said. "I imagine it's much worse for you though."

"Being gay and a Slytherin really limits my options."

"You have lots of friends outside our house though. That's got to improve your reputation."

Most Slytherins kept to themselves. I was considered an odd one for managing to stay friends with Sue, Stephen, and Hannah. Few people knew how much effort first year I had to put into to convincing them that I was one of the "good" Slytherins. But Tracey's inter-house connections put mine to shame. She'd met Tamsin Applebee during her brief dalliance in Charms club second year, and Tamsin had introduced her to Jessica Tring and Poppy Caxton. Then, in fourth year, Tracey had gone one a double date with Ravenclaws Hugo Mattingly and Gerald Vickers. She remained good friends with all of them despite her house.

"You would think," said Tracey. "But even with my friends, it's different from hanging out with you lot. They never really forget that I'm a Slytherin. They'll gossip and do homework with me, but as soon as something controversial comes up, they all look at me, knowing that I sleep in the same dorm as the children of Death Eaters. I'm a Slytherin they can be friends with, but I'm still a Slytherin."

I found myself nodding along with her words.

"That's probably why I got along with Natasha so well," said Tracey. "The Durmstrang students didn't know all the house drama. She didn't know our house is supposed to be the breeding ground for dark lords. She just liked me for me."

I didn't know what to say. Tracey hadn't discussed Natasha much with me. It was Pansy who Tracey went to talk about her feelings. The day after the Yule Ball, Tracey and Pansy had left the dorm room early, went out to the edge of the Great Lake, and talked for hours despite the falling snow. I'd watched them from the library window, wondering if they'd be mad if I joined them. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't felt hurt at the time. I knew they were best friends and there were things they didn't always share with me, but I still would've liked to have been included.

"Natasha was my first girlfriend," said Tracey. She gave a sad little smile. "She taught me a lot of things. Shame it wasn't meant to be."

"What happened?" I asked. The following summer, Tracey had mentioned in a letter that they'd broken up, but she'd never given me the details.

"Long distance," said Tracey with a shrug. "We realized it pretty quickly over the summer that it wasn't the kind of relationship either of us were looking for. We've remained friends though. She's dating another girl at Durmstrang now. She's very happy." Tracey's voice went a little flat at the end.

"You know, you never really talked to me about her," I said.

The corners of Tracey's mouth tugged downward. "I didn't, did I? You and the boys just had to guess that I was dating Natasha, didn't you? I remember one night I was doing homework in the library with Blaise, and all of a sudden, he looked up from his Dark Arts textbook and said, 'You and the Durmstrang girl make a good couple'. Then, he went right back to reading like nothing ever happened." She laughed.

"That sounds like Blaise," I said. "Well, I kind of guessed you liked girls in third year, and when I saw you holding hands in the corridor with the Durmstrang girl, I figured I'd guessed right."

"Sorry," said Tracey. "I was still getting used to the idea. For the most part, Hogwarts students keep quiet about things like that. There's a few like Montague who talk too much, but most students don't care or just leave me alone. When you leave Hogwarts, out in the world, it gets a lot harder. But I've heard things are changing. That's what Hugo says, anyway." Tracey took a deep breath before continuing. "Sorry for not talking to you. I depended on Pansy a lot last year, and I feel like we left you out a little. It wasn't something that was easy to say aloud back then. It was hard to tell you even though I knew you'd just say, 'You like who you like.'"

That did sound like something I would say.

"Pansy has a different view of the world. She can give me a different perspective, you know. And—sorry—she has more experience than you do. It's easier to talk to her about this stuff."

In the dating world, Pansy certainly did know more than me. I mean, her dates usually involved some ploy to get Draco's attention, but she'd at least snogged more than one bloke. Still, it stung a little that Tracey hadn't even bothered to talk to me when she'd been going through something so complicated.

"You tried to get me to open up once," said Tracey.

"I did?" I didn't remember.

"In third year, during one of the Quidditch celebrations, you asked me if I thought Diane was attractive." Tracey gave me a sad smile. "I knew you weren't asking for you, but I was too much of a prat to admit it."

The memory came flooding back to me, and I couldn't help but grin. "I had zero tact back then."

"You still have zero tact," said Tracey.

I waggled my finger at her. "I have a little more than zero now. Maybe one-percent."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "Fine. One-percent. I'll give you that."

A crackle came from the black stone fireplace, but despite the dancing flames, none of the logs burned. The low murmur of conversation could be heard across the common room. A few more groups had returned from Hogsmeade. Most of them dropped their belongings off in the dorms before heading out to the Great Hall for dinner. I watched them come and go, but I still hadn't seen any of our other friends.

Finally, Tracey asked again, "How was your date?"

I sighed. I knew I wasn't going to get out of telling her. "It was all right."

"Just 'all right'?"

I glanced over my shoulder, suddenly aware that Adrian or one of his friends could be in the common room. There was no one near us though, so in a low voice, I said, "I don't know. It was fun. We walked around Hogsmeade, we talked, I enjoyed it—"

"Did he kiss you?" asked Tracey.

I bit the insides of my cheeks and nodded.

Tracey grinned. "My little Daphne, you've had your first kiss. I'm so proud of you."

"Shut it," I muttered.

"So, is Adrian a bad kisser?"

"What?" My head jerked at that. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, you don't sound very enthusiastic about it," said Tracey. "I mean, if it was a good first kiss, you should be swooning all over the place. I remember after mine, I couldn't stop grinning. Pansy got annoyed even though it wasn't my fault Draco didn't snog her after the Yule Ball."

"He wasn't bad," I said. Not that I had a lot of boys to compare Adrian to. "I guess I always thought that the first time a boy kissed me, I'd be more…in love with him?"

Tracey scrunched her nose. "What do you mean?"

"Shouldn't it be, I don't know, _more_? Not like lightning strikes or anything like they write about in those romance books Astoria loves, but being kissed should be more than just 'all right', shouldn't it? Shouldn't the first boy I date be someone that makes me happy simply by being around him? Not someone that I have to pretend to like Quidditch for?"

"That's exactly like Astoria's romance books," said Tracey with a scoff. "Love's not some instant drama where you fall within the span of one conversation. You were nervous when you with Adrian, right?"

"Well, yeah, it was my first date…"

"Did you ever think those nerves could be a prelude to romance?" asked Tracey. "Loves not something that just happens. You build it slowly—little by little, conversation by conversation, kiss by kiss—as you get to learn new things about them. You can't go on one date with a bloke and expect to know if he's the one for you or not."

Tracey had only had one girlfriend, and while that was one more person she'd dated than me, I didn't think that qualified her to speak so all-knowingly. Still, she _had_ dated someone. Maybe there was some secret to the art of dating that she understood and I didn't.

"He asked me out," I said finally. "To be his girlfriend and all that."

"And what'd you say?"

"I asked him to let me think."

Tracey spluttered a laugh. "You did not!"

"I did," I said. "I told him that I had a good time, but I wanted to make sure I was ready before I jumped into anything."

"You told him that?" asked Tracey. She uncurled from her spot on the armchair and leaned forward, gawking at me. "What'd he say?"

"He said he understood," I said. "And not to keep him waiting too long."

Tracey shook her head. "I can't believe you're making him wait."

"You think I should date him."

"Of course," said Tracey. "You two get along. He's one of the good ones, you know." She reclined back in the chair. "In the end, Daph, it's your decision. I can't tell you what to do. But if you're going to make him wait think hard about it."

"I will."

I planned to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the stereotypical Hogsmeade date chapter - though hopefully I've written it so that you didn't get bored.
> 
> Also, yay! More Tracey! I absolutely adore her character, but it's taken me awhile to get to her arc. Don't worry, Tracey, you will find love!
> 
> Please leave a comment!


	16. Good Things Don't Come Easy

**Chapter Sixteen: Good Things Don't Come Easy**

And so, the period of going out with but not dating Adrian Pucey began. For the next week, Adrian and I spent some time together every day. On Saturday, we walked on the grounds and built a snowwizard together. On Sunday, he hung out with my friends in the common room, chatting about OWLs and Quidditch with them. On Monday, we ate dinner together in the Great Hall, and he showed me an article on arithmancy in the _Daily Prophet_. On Tuesday, he stayed up late helping me cast a vanishing spell. On Wednesday, I sat through lunch with his friends and endured listening to Montague praise Umbridge's educational reforms. On Thursday, we did homework together in the library, and he complained about the load of coursework for NEWT classes. And on Friday, I got into a long rant about the ridiculousness of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Adrian stayed up late listening and asking questions.

I liked Adrian, I really did, but I still didn't know if dating him was what I wanted. Tracey pointed out that what we were doing was pretty much dating minus all the snogging. Maybe it was naïve of me, but I liked to think this was a sort of trial run, and Adrian would understand if, by the end of it, I decided we were better off as friends.

Both Tracey and Pansy's dates had ended as one-off events. Tracey and Diane avoided each other in the common room, and from what I gathered, Tracey had omitted the part of the story where she'd told Diane to "sod off". Pansy had simply found Holden Ledbury too dull for her tastes, and halfway through the date, she'd joined up with Thalassa and Rachel again and their Valentine's Day turned into more of a group Hogsmeade trip.

The morning after Valentine's Day, Pansy and Tracey had gone off on their own. A part of me had wanted to go with them. After all, I'd gone on my first date. I could talk about Big Girl Stuff with them now, right? But a much larger part of me was relieved to not have to talk with Pansy that day. I hadn't fully forgiven her for her attitude in Hogsmeade. Besides, I still had to appease Blaise after abandoning him for a date with Adrian, and I spent Sunday doing homework in the common room with him.

Blaise had spent Valentine's Day in the library, reading some articles about the translation of muggle patents to the magical world. He tried to explain it to me, but I didn't understand more than three words of the legalese.

From what I could tell, Blaise was glad the whole drama surrounding Valentine's Day was over. He wasn't pleased that I was pseudo-dating Adrian Pucey, judging by his scowl whenever Adrian came within his eyesight, but Blaise had decided not to mention his opinions to me—something I was sincerely grateful for.

What did come out of Valentine's Day was Nott's first girlfriend. I don't know what happened on their date—Nott wasn't the sort to give a play-by-play for his friends—but all of sudden, Helen Dawlish was everywhere I didn't want her to be.

We'd be eating breakfast at the Slytherin table, and Dawlish would come over and squeeze onto the bench next to Nott (even when there wasn't room for her). Or we'd be doing homework in a back corner of the library, and Dawlish would somehow find us there, needing Nott's help with her Potions homework despite the fact that she was a year older than he was. Or, even worse, she'd come up to us while we chatted in the corridor, link her arm around Nott's, and say that she needed to "borrow" him for a bit. Then, the two of them would disappear, and we wouldn't see Nott again until after dinner.

To be fair, Dawlish was a nice girl. She remembered Tracey's brief membership in the Hogwarts choir three years ago, and the two of them learned they had the same taste in music. Pansy soon discovered that they were both from Herefordshire, and before I knew it, they were discussing plans for the summer. Blaise didn't seem bothered by Dawlish either. He smiled at her jokes and even initiated a conversation with her once to ask questions about her mum's work at the Ministry. It seemed to be only me that found her presence exhausting.

"What's wrong with her exactly?" asked Hannah.

We were in Charms class on a Friday afternoon, which meant that no one really concentrated on the task at hand. The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match was the next day, and all anyone could talk about was how Hufflepuff would flatten the already demoralized Gryffindor Quidditch team. Slytherin house was, of course, cheering for Hufflepuff, and this was one of the few times where our houses were on good terms.

The remainder of class was spent practicing the invisibility spell on mice, and to both Hannah's and my surprise, I was actually doing well. " _Inanis_." I gave my wand a little flick and watched as the mouse (which I had named Sir Luckless) disappeared from sight. With another flick of my wand, I said, " _Visiris_ ," and Sir Luckless regained his form.

"It's a miracle," said Hannah.

"I know," I said, staring at Sir Luckless in open-mouthed awe. "I think I've discovered my calling."

"Turning mice invisible?" asked Hannah.

I nodded solemnly. "Now how do I make a career out of this?"

"Stick with arithmancy," advised Hannah. She waved her own wand and her mouse (who we had named Amata) disappeared. Another spell, and the mouse returned. "Anyway, you still haven't told me what your deal with Helen Dawlish is."

I groaned. Now I wished I hadn't complained about her to Hannah at all. Hannah was going to read way too much into this and think I was too possessive of my friends. "Look, I'm glad Nott got a girlfriend. He's happy. She's happy. We're all happy for them. I just, you know, wish she hung out with us a little less."

"Isn't her dad an auror?" asked Hannah.

"Yes. As she's told us five-thousand times. She thinks it's great that Nott wants to be an auror, and she keeps saying she just _has_ to introduce him to her dad." I noticed the venom in my voice and quickly changed my tone to something more cheerful. "It's great for Nott. He needs every foot in the door that he can get."

Hannah shook her head. "You're not fooling me, Daph."

"I know." I buried my face in my hands and let out a long sigh. "It makes me a right cow to dislike Nott's girlfriend for no good reason, doesn't it?"

"At least you know it," said Hannah.

"What did you do when your friends started dating?"

"Who says my friends have started dating?"

I removed my head from my hands and scowled at Hannah. "Are you telling me none of you Hufflepuffs have started dating?"

"We obviously move at a slower pace than you Slytherins," said Hannah. "But Susan starting dating Terry Boot a couple months ago."

"What?"

"And, you know, it was a little awkward at first—Terry was around a lot more, and Susan was around a lot less—but we figured it out. Just give it time."

"Did they get to know each other while in your secret club?" I asked, careful to keep my voice down.

It was Hannah's turn to be shocked. She recovered quickly and shot me an annoyed glare. "There is no secret club." She made her mouse invisible and visible again before saying, "You should at least try to have a normal conversation with Dawlish. Maybe you'll find that you two have something in common that you can bond over."

"It'll be good for Nott if I get along with his girlfriend, won't it?" With a flick of my wand and the word " _Inanis_ ", I made Sir Luckless disappear.

"Probably," said Hannah. "It sounds like things are going well with them. You should have a proper conversation with her for once. You know, actually _try_ to get to know her."

" _Visiris_." Sir Luckless returned. I really had a talent for the Invisibility Charm.

"I'll try," I said finally.

Hannah gave me a proud smile.

Of course, having a "proper conversation" with Dawlish was easier said than done. Nott sat with her at the Ravenclaw table during dinner. I didn't see him again until I was already back in the Slytherin common room and Dawlish was long gone. Thankfully, a chance came the next morning during the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Bundled up in our winter cloaks, my friends and I joined Hufflepuff house in their section of the stands. We'd spent the night before changing the color of our clothing to yellow—wool caps, scarves, mittens—so there could be no doubt which house we were supporting.

Dawlish met us outside the stands, giving Nott a quick kiss on the cheek as a hello. She was decked out in black and yellow as well, with a big yellow bow tying her brown hair up in a ponytail. She held his hand as they led the way into the stands. I really did plan on standing next to Dawlish so I could talk to her. But somehow Blaise, Pansy, and Tracey all managed to end up standing in the way. It's not like I stepped back to let my friends into the stands first and put as much distance between Dawlish and me as possible. Not at all.

"Daphne!"

I turned at the wrong moment, causing Hannah to pull me into an awkward hug. She was taller than me, and her shoulder dug into my cheek.

"You're hurting my face," I told her.

"Sorry!" As she let go, she nodded at my yellow mittens and said, "Glad to see you're supporting Hufflepuff."

"Did you think we would cheer for Gryffindor?" I asked.

Behind Hannah, I could see her friends eyeing me suspiciously. No matter what she told them, Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley would never believe that "good" Slytherins existed. I smiled and waved at them. Macmillan's glare intensified, while Finch-Fletchley had the decency to look at least a little guilty.

"I'll see you later," said Hannah. She gave a meaningful stare at someone behind me and it took me a moment to realize she was looking at Dawlish.

I fought back a groan. "Fine. I'll see you later."

"Go Hufflepuff!" said Hannah with a smile. Then, she disappeared into the crowd of black and yellow.

There was no avoiding it now. Hannah would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't have a "proper conversation" with Dawlish before our next Charms class. With a sigh, I made my way through the stands towards Dawlish. Nott shot me a weird look as I pushed him out of the way so I could stand next to his girlfriend. I shot him a smile over my shoulder before turning to Dawlish and asking, "So, uh, are you a big Quidditch fan?"

"Yes." She sent Nott a questioning glance but then said to me, "I bleed purple and gold." When I didn't respond, she added, "Pride of Portree is my team."

"Oh, yes." I vaguely remembered my sister rambling on about Pride of Portree, but I certainly didn't know their team colors. "So, uh, why Hufflepuff? Isn't it better for Ravenclaw house if Hufflepuff wins?"

"Well, yes, but I'm friends with Hufflepuff's Beater." She pointed at one of the figures zooming around the pitch dressed in yellow. "We're in dueling club together."

"Oh," I said. "You're, uh, in the dueling club."

"Yes," said Dawlish with a smile. "I keep telling Theodore that he should join. Having that on his resume will boost his chances of becoming an auror. And from what I hear, he's great at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"He is," I said. "He—"

"Oh!" Dawlish interrupted me with a sudden cheer. She was looking out at the pitch where Zacharius Smith had just scored on the Gryffindor Keeper. A roar rose up among the stands around us, and my attempts to get to know Dawlish were put on hold.

I felt someone elbow me in the side, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw Nott mouthing a question to me. I think he asked something along the lines of "What are you doing?" I mouthed back, "Trying to get along with your girlfriend, you wanker," but I think that was too long of a sentence, and he only looked even more confused.

"Sorry," said Dawlish once the cheers had died down. "You were saying?"

"I forgot," I said. "I—"

The stands collectively winced as the new Gryffindor Beater, Jack Sloper, missed the Bludger, instead hitting Angelina Johnson in the jaw with his bat. Madam Hooch blew her whistle to pause the game, but Johnson waved away any medical assistance.

"Is she all right?" I asked. I couldn't tell if she was bleeding or if it was just her crimson robes.

"She'll tough it out," said Dawlish. "Cho gets Quidditch injuries all the time, and Madam Pomfrey cleans them up no problem."

As one of the Hufflepuff Chasers approached Ron Weasley, a chorus of "Weasley is Our King" began in the stands. It was mainly Slytherin students singing, but I saw some of the Hufflepuffs join in as they waved their banners.

Nott followed my line of sight and said, "I'm surprised the song hasn't been banned."

Now that he mentioned it, a song that targeted one student in particular should have been banned after the first Quidditch match. Frowning, I said, "I wonder if Umbridge's fondness for her old house—and her hatred for Gryffindor—has anything to do with the song's survival."

"Maybe. But then again," said Nott, "this is the school that allowed students to wear 'Potter Stinks' badges during the Triwizard Tournament." He looked at me expectantly, probably waiting for me to grumble about how it was really the Quadwizard Tournament, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

"What are you two talking about?" asked Dawlish.

I glanced at her and said, "This school's lack of disciplinary measures when it comes to house competition."

She gave me a blank look. Apparently discussing Hogwarts' management issues wasn't on her list of hobbies. Ah well, her loss.

A roar rose up among the crowd as one of the Gryffindor Chasers scored, and Dawlish was distracted as she booed Alicia Spinnet along with the rest of the Hufflepuff fans. The Quaffle went back into play, and I watched as the Hufflepuff Chasers zipped around the pitch, passing the Quaffle back and forth. The other new Gryffindor Beater shrieked and fell backwards off his broom when Zacharias Smith flew at him. As the stands roared with laughter, I felt a bit embarrassed for Gryffindor house.

"What's the score?" I asked.

"Hufflepuff's up one-hundred-and-twenty points to Gryffindor's fifty," said Dawlish, not taking her eyes off the action.

Dawlish was a nice girl. She really was. But we obviously had nothing in common. At this point, I'd rather be stuck in a room full of Cornish pixies than continue talking to her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a nagging voice that sounded a lot like Hannah's told me a Quidditch game clearly wasn't the best place to have a "proper conversation" with Dawlish. However, I wasn't in the mood to be understanding. I switched places with Nott so I could stand next to Blaise and complain about the February weather.

A booming chorus of "Weasley is Our King" began whenever the Quaffle went near the Gryffindor goalposts. To my right, Pansy and Tracey sang along with the rest of the Slytherin crowd. At some point, I lost track of the score. All I knew was that Hufflepuff was winning by the length of the Great Lake.

In the end, Ginny Weasley managed to snatch the Snitch from right under the Hufflepuff Seeker's nose, ensuring that Gryffindor wasn't completely slaughtered. A gleeful Dawlish announced that the final score was two-hundred-and-forty to two-hundred-and-thirty, Hufflepuff's win.

"It's over already?" I asked.

"Twenty-two minutes," said Pansy, checking her watch.

"Why'd we bother changing our clothes to yellow?" asked Blaise as he tapped his scarf with his wand and turned the color back to green. "Twenty-two minutes is hardly worth it."

I felt a bit embarrassed though no one but me knew it. Could it even be called a "proper conversation" with Helen Dawlish if it lasted less than twenty-two minutes? But, well, I didn't know how much longer I could've stuck it out for. She was a Quidditch-obsessed member of the dueling club who also happened to be a soprano in the school choir, while my only talents were arithmancy and complaining. And she was almost twenty centimeters taller than me. We had nothing in common, not even our heights, and I couldn't see how Hannah could expect me to have a "proper conversation" with the girl.

As we shuffled through the crowds of celebrating Hufflepuffs, I sent a silent apology to Nott. I had tried (sort of), but it seemed I was never going to get along with his girlfriend.

* * *

A storm of owls descended on the Gryffindor table during Sunday breakfast. Of course, we gave out no prizes for guessing who the owls were for.

I tried to ignore Harry Potter and his friends as I ate my breakfast of fruit and yogurt (I'd gained some weight over the last month, and I was starting to take Pansy's diet seriously—at least until I was craving treacle tart again). However, it became hard to ignore the trio as Umbridge made her way down from the professors' table to see what all the fuss was about.

"What happened, do you think?" asked Tracey.

Nott shrugged, while Blaise flipped through the _Daily Prophet_ , hoping to find an article that might give us a clue.

The Gryffindor table was on the opposite end of the hall, so we couldn't hear a word that was being said. From what I could see, Umbridge was pissed. Whatever was written in the letters, Umbridge did not approve. She snatched something from Potter and stormed out of the Great Hall, not even bothering to finish her breakfast.

"What _happened_?" asked Tracey again.

"I don't know," I said. "But whatever Umbridge doesn't approve of, I do."

"Does that count as talking about Potter?" asked Pansy.

My eyes narrowed.

"Give her a break. She didn't say his name." Blaise dropped the _Dailey Prophet_ onto the bench. "There's nothing in here that would piss off Umbridge."

"Why would the _Dailey Prophet_ cause Potter to be flooded with owls anyway?" asked Tracey. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the table.

At the Ravenclaw table, I caught a glimpse of Harry Potter grinning sheepishly out from the cover of a magazine. In glittering gold letters, I saw the words "The Quibbler" at the top. It took some squinting, but I saw that beneath the magazine title, in smaller font, were the words: "Harry Potter Speaks Out at Last: The Truth About He Who Must Not Be Named and the Night I Saw Him Return".

"Perhaps it's that," I said, pointing.

My friends—rudely—turned all at once to stare at the magazine. The poor third-year boy holding it looked as though he might faint.

" _The Quibbler_ ," muttered Nott as my friends turned back to face me. He frowned, trying to place the name. "Doesn't some Ravenclaw girl's dad run that magazine?"

"Lovegood," said Tracey. "But that magazine is rubbish. It's a fun read, but you can't take anything that rag says seriously. They write about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks for Merlin's sake!"

"What's a Crumple-Horned Sorkack?' asked Nott.

"Exactly!"

"Don't you get a copy of _The Quibbler_?" I asked.

"Only when my mum sends me one," grumbled Tracey. She glanced over her shoulder at the Ravenclaw boy. He had begun shoving his books into his bookbag, apparently eager to get started on his homework.

"'Harry Potter Speaks Out at Last'." Blaise looked over at me as he spoke. "You think Potter gave an interview?"

I nodded. "With the Ministry so anti-Potter, the magazine article must have Umbridge fuming."

Blaise extended a hand to me.

"What happened to 'giver he a break'?" I cried.

"That was to get you to let your guard down."

Grumbling, I found a sickle in the pocket of my bookbag and handed it to him.

It took until mid-afternoon for Tracey to get her hands on a copy of _The Quibbler_. Apparently, Umbridge had stormed out of the Great Hall so she could ban the magazine as quickly as possible. Within two hours of the incident, notices had gone up over the school saying, "By Order of the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts: Any student found in possession of the magazine _The Quibbler_ will be expelled."

Personally, I thought expulsion was an extreme measure, but I knew better than to say that around Umbridge. Anyways, anyone with half a brain knew that the best way to get teenagers to read something was to ban them from reading it, and if every student read the magazine, then Umbridge couldn't expel anyone. If she tried to, there wouldn't be a single student left at Hogwarts for her to bully.

Umbridge spent the day demanding, in the name of the High Inquisitor, that students empty their pockets, but from what I heard, she didn't get the chance to expel a single student. Much to her disappointment. Students transformed _The Quibbler_ into textbooks, so it would look to Umbridge as though they were doing their homework. One cheeky Ravenclaw had disguised the magazine as their _Defensive Magical Theory_ book. Some of the older students had ripped out the pages containing Potter's interview and cast spells so that the pages appeared blank to all but them. I heard one Slytherin sold charmed copies of the article to younger students for twice the price of _The Quibbler_ magazine and made at least a few galleons worth of profit.

Tracey borrowed a copy of _The Quibbler_ from Tamsin Applebee, who had disguised it as her diary. The five of us grabbed lunch from the Great Hall before heading for the south part of the building. Students didn't need to use that corridor on Sundays, so we had less chance of being discovered. The few students that did pass by only saw that we were reading Tamsin Applebee's diary aloud.

Tracey took a seat in one of windowsills in the corridor, leaning back against the stone wall. Blaise sat on the opposite side of the sill, looking over the gardens and the last of the February snow, while Pansy and I settled on the floor, our bookbags in our laps. Nott remained standing. He leaned against a pillar on the opposite side of the corridor, keeping lookout in case Umbridge decided to come this way.

"Rita Skeeter wrote the article," said Tracey as she opened the diary.

Blaise scoffed. "Well, that lessens the credibility."

Tracey skimmed over the first paragraph. "Actually, it seems well-written and objective. Not like Skeeter's usual style at all."

"That almost makes it worse," I said. "She's capable of being a responsible journalist, but instead she chooses to write those rubbish articles."

"Because that's what sells," said Blaise.

Tracey, a reader of those rubbish articles, nodded in agreement. "The truth can be boring."

I pointed to the diary in her hands. "Not in this case."

"Someone's coming," hissed Nott.

We fell into mindless conversation about how hard OWL year was as we waited for a group of fourth year Hufflepuffs to pass. One of them sent a dark look in our direction and then whispered something to her friend. The whole group turned to us, and I suddenly knew how the Ravenclaw at breakfast must have felt. Except I don't think we looked at him with nearly as much anger as these Hufflepuffs had in their eyes.

Once the Hufflepuffs had turned the corner and disappeared from sight, Tracey read the article aloud to us.

Some of the story I'd heard before, some it I'd guessed, and some it was completely new to me. When Potter had returned at the end of the third task last year, he'd given a few details of what had happened. The Triwizard Cup had been a Portkey. There'd been a graveyard. There'd been Death Eaters. Cedric Diggory had been murdered. The Dark Lord had returned. Potter had barely escaped with his life. That's all anyone knew. I'd believed him, but from those little snippets of information, it was hard to imagine the horror of what Potter had been through that night.

The article told his story well. How he had Cedric had agreed to share the tournament win, a Hogwarts' victory. How Cedric hadn't seen the Death Eater who cast the spell that killed him. How helpless Potter had felt as he stared at Cedric's body. How horrified he'd felt as the Dark Lord emerged from the cauldron, whole again.

As I listened to Tracey read the words of the article aloud, stumbling over a word here and there as she tried to process what had happened, I could understand why the world made such a fuss over Harry Potter.

"Oh." Tracey stopped mid-sentence. She stared down at the page in front of her, her lips moving soundlessly over a word that I couldn't quite make out.

"What is it?" asked Pansy.

Slowly, Tracey's gaze lifted from the diary, across the corridor, to Nott. All the good feelings I had towards Potter faded and were replaced with feelings of cold dread. Nott stood rigid against the pillar, his arms folded across his chest and his expression hard and fixed.

"What does it say?" asked Pansy.

Tracey glanced at Nott again before saying, "Potter names them. The Death Eaters who were in the graveyard, he names them. Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Malfoy…" She couldn't say the last one.

"And Nott," Blaise finished for her. He glowered at the diary as he spoke, as if he could burn the name out of the article through sheer willpower.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze around us. The weight of that one name in print came crashing down, and we could only stare at the leather diary in Tracey's hands.

It was Pansy who broke the spell. "That bastard!"

"Why's he a bastard?" asked Blaise. "For naming the Dark Lord's supporters? Are you saying the public shouldn't know who supports a genocidal maniac?"

"N-no." Pansy gulped. "But there should be laws against naming people like this! There's no proof! It's only an accusation! He can't go throwing names around like that! Nott, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle—they're still in school!"

"He's accusing their parents, not them," said Blaise.

As our friends argued, Nott remained silent. The pain must be unbearable. I couldn't even begin to imagine. His father had been in the graveyard. His father had helped the Dark Lord return. There was no Imperius Curse. His father had chosen this path. And now the whole world knew. The whole world knew what kind of man Nott's father was, and they would begin to make judgments about what kind of man Nott was going to be.

"Potter can't just go around accusing people because he feels like it!" cried Pansy.

"You're getting too loud," hissed Tracey. She looked around nervously, checking both sides of the corridor to make sure no one was coming.

Nott untangled his arms and said, "I understand why he did it."

His calm, unaffected voice snapped Pansy out of her tirade. She stared up at him, her eyes wide.

"Potter was right to give the interview," said Nott. "His side of the story—the _true_ side of the story—should be told. If there are Death Eaters walking free, the public should know. To keep hiding it like the Ministry is doing…that's aiding You-Know-Who just as much as the Death Eaters are." There was nothing kind in his tone, only edges. I just didn't know if the hatred in his voice was meant for Potter, his father, or himself.

"Even if Potter's right," I said, "that doesn't mean this article doesn't hurt."

"It doesn't." Nott's gaze shifted to me. His eyes narrowed as he spoke, "My dad is a Death Eater, and he deserves to be in Azkaban. He should've been thrown in there over decade ago. But our incompetent Ministry believed him when he said he'd been operating under the Imperius Curse, and now—"

The footsteps of students brought Nott to a stop. His head dropped and he stared at the floor as a group of Gryffindor boys walked by us. I now knew why some of them threw dark looks in our direction. They weren't looking at us; they were looking at Nott.

"Keep walking, you pricks. There's a prefect here," Pansy called out after them. "If I see so much as a page of _The Quibbler_ , I'll report you to High Inquisitor for expulsion."

The Gryffindors picked up the pace. After they'd left, we gathered our things and headed to the Slytherin dungeon. It wasn't until much later, when I was lying awake in my four-poster bed, that I realized no one asked me to pay them a sickle.

* * *

Despite forbidding students to read _The Quibbler_ and despite forbidding professors to talk to their students about non-subject related topics, Umbridge's decrees did absolutely nothing to stop the whole school from discussing the article.

Whispered conversations could be heard in every corridor. Everyone had an opinion about it. About the portkey. About the graveyard. About Cedric Diggory. About the Dark Lord. About Dumbledore. About Fudge. About the Ministry. About Potter. The vast majority of the student body seemed to believe Potter's side of the story, but there were those who expressed doubts. Mostly, I noticed, the ones who stubbornly refused to believe the article were the students whose parents worked for the Ministry. Sue, whose mum worked in the publicity department, had been sent an owl, warning her not to read _The Quibbler_. We didn't know all the details, but it sounded like warnings about the article had been passed around the Ministry.

Of course, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were firmly on the Ministry's side. Before _The Quibbler_ article came out, Draco would have, albeit reluctantly, admitted that Umbridge was a bad professor. But now, he was her vocal supporter. Monday night, I heard him from the other side of the common room as he ranted on about how Umbridge was the greatest thing that ever happened to the school and how Potter needed to be expelled for telling such blatant lies. As the night wore on, he had gathered a congregation of other Ministry supporters. Jeanne Selwyn and Abigail Pugh were there, their parents high-ranking Ministry officials, and the Carrow twins, whose family was rumored to be involved with the Dark Lord, nodded along with Draco's words. The Slytherin Quidditch gang lounged about that area as well. Montague voiced his agreement loudly, and while he wasn't saying anything, I saw that Adrian was seated with his friends.

If I was a stronger person, I might've approached Potter and congratulated him on the interview. It must have been hard to talk about, but he'd pushed through because he thought it was the right thing to do. But I wasn't a strong person. All I had to do was imagine the stares of the Gryffindor students as I approached Potter and looks of betrayal I'd receive in the Slytherin common room, and I knew it'd never happen.

Besides, Potter didn't need my support. The other students and professors gave him enough of that. Through the gossip tree, Tracey had heard that Umbridge had given Potter another week's worth of detentions, banned him from future Hogsmeade visits, and taken away fifty points from Gryffindor. In response, the other professors did everything in their power to make up for this—awarding Potter with house points for handing them a watering can or politely stepping out of their way in the corridors. Students also vocalized their support of Potter, waving to him in the hallways and telling him how brave he was. Apparently, Seamus Finnigan had stopped Potter outside of Transfiguration to publicly say he thought Potter's story was true. I'd been surprised that one of Potter's own dormmates hadn't believed him. I wondered just how difficult it must have been for Potter to have not only the Ministry calling him a liar but also his own housemates.

Of course, my admiration for Potter was always followed by a wave of anger. Not necessarily directed at Potter but at the whole school in general. Nott didn't deserve this. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were elitist arses who bought into the whole blood purity shite. They deserved the disdainful glares they got from other students. Draco deserved it when Poonima Shah had threatened to hex him if he didn't "shut it" about Umbridge. Crabbe and Goyle deserved it when Colin Creevey had called them bullies to their faces. But Nott wasn't like them. The looks of scorn and disgust should never have been directed at Nott. It wasn't only the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs; some of the Slytherins had started to give Nott a wide berth.

It wasn't right. The students didn't understand. Nott wasn't like that. They hadn't been there first year when Nott had apologized to Tracey for saying she was lucky to be in Slytherin. They hadn't been there second year when Nott had stayed up late with Blaise and me, talking about how he thought his father was wrong about muggles. They hadn't been there third year after Nott had learned his father hadn't obeyed the Dark Lord while under the Imperius Curse. They hadn't been there fourth year when Nott jinxed Miles Bletchley to stop him from picking on a muggleborn student. They hadn't been there. They didn't know how far Nott had come, how hard he'd worked, to leave his family behind.

On Tuesday night, Blaise and I were doing our Arithmancy homework in the library when we saw Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle join Nott at one of the tables. I hadn't even noticed Nott in the library until then, and I realized he'd been sitting alone in a corner, his Care of Magical Creatures textbook open in front of him. He frowned as Draco and the two minions pulled out chairs to sit down with him.

"Look at that," I whispered.

Blaise looked up from the problem set he'd been working on. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle talked in low voices, while Nott tried to focus on his textbook. I could see a crease forming between his eyebrows as he grew more and more irritated. Potter walked by, causing Crabbe and Goyle to crack their knuckles menacingly. A smug smile flickered across Potter's face as he left the library. Nott looked as though he'd rather be at the bottom of the Great Lake.

Blaise calmly closed his Arithmancy textbook and placed it into his bookbag. Then, he made his way over to the table. Four pairs of eyes looked up as Blaise approached and said, "Nott, I'm going to grab some eclairs from the kitchen. You coming?"

Relief flashed across Nott's face, and within a matter of seconds, he'd shoved his homework into his bag. He gave a quick wave to Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle before following Blaise out of the library.

Draco scowled after him. Then, slowly, the smile faded, and perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed a little lost. I wondered if perhaps Draco had really just wanted to talk to Nott. The two of them had known each other from before they attended Hogwarts. Both sons of Death Eaters, both descended from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and both burdened by the expectations of their families. Perhaps Draco only been looking for someone to understand.

Suddenly, Draco's eyes snapped over to me. "What you looking at, Daphne?"

I hadn't realized I'd been staring, and normally I would've apologized for being so rude. But there was something in Draco's tone that struck a nerve. I said, "A ferret," and then, before he could respond, I hurried out of the library after the boys.

They hadn't gotten far. I found them standing in front of a suit of armor. Nothing in their posture, however, was friendly. Nott had his arms crossed, while Blaise looked as though he wanted to hit Nott with his bookbag.

"You should have sat with us," Blaise was saying when I finally caught up with them. "There's no need to sulk in a corner by yourself."

Nott scowled. "Are you just going to lecture me?"

"I thought you were going to get eclairs," I said, butting into their conservation with a smile that was just a little too big to be real.

Nott glanced at me, while Blaise continued to glare at his friend.

"Sorry, Daph," said Nott. "We left you in the library."

"Oh, I'm fine," I said, waving away his concerns. "It was my fault for being slow."

The conversation hit a wall, and the three of us sunk into silence. We did, however, make our way towards to the kitchens. The boys walked on either side of me, refusing to acknowledge one another's presence. It was uncomfortable, and my head was beginning to ache. I searched for a topic that would end the painful silence. Unfortunately, my brain went to the worst possible option. "How's Dawlish, by the way? She hasn't been hanging around recently."

Nott didn't look at me as he said, "She told me we should take a break."

"A break?" My voice came out louder than I'd intended. "But you've only been dating a week!"

Nott let out a bitter laugh. "Can you even take a break after only a week? I don't know."

"I don't know either." I had mixed feelings about this news. My gut reaction was relief. I was by no means a fan of Helen Dawlish, and in my opinion, she didn't match Nott well. But when I saw the way Nott's mouth curl down in defeat and the way sadness settled in his dark eyes, I decided that I could tolerate Dawlish if she took that expression away.

"You're better off without her," said Blaise.

Nott glared over the top of my head.

"Anyone who would break up with you because of what your father's done isn't worth your time," said Blaise.

"We're not broken up," said Nott stiffly. "Just on a break."

"There's a difference?" sneered Blaise.

"Well, it's not like you would know."

"Her dad is an auror," I said loudly. I didn't want to defend Dawlish in this situation. I didn't even like Dawlish. But if I could stop Blaise and Nott from fighting, then I'd defend her to the death. "Even though she knows you're a good person, it can't be easy to date someone whose dad is accused of being a Death Eater when her dad has dedicated his life to putting them in Azkaban."

Nott gave me a soft smile. He knew exactly what I was trying to do. "I understand too. It's a lot of pressure. She just needs some time to think things over. We've only been dating for a week after all. It'd be asking too much of her to expect her to stand by me after only a week."

"Stop being such a bloody martyr." Blaise stopped walking. He was angry. Really angry. His hands were balled into fists, and the corner of his mouth jumped with each word. He'd been holding it in all this time, and now it burst forth the like breaking of a dam. "You can get angry, you know. You can tell Draco to sod off. You can tell Potter where to shove his _Quibbler_ article. You don't have to be so bloody understanding!"

My jaw dropped, and I looked from Blaise to Nott and back. This couldn't end well. I waited, expecting Nott to explode back, to yell and shout, but he did no such thing.

"You know," said Nott finally. Each word was stiff and barely contained. "I'm not hungry. You two enjoy your eclairs. I'll see you tomorrow."

And without another word, he left us. Blaise and I stared after him as he headed down the corridor towards the dungeons.

"That could've gone better," I said when Nott was out of earshot.

Blaise's scowl slowly disappeared and he let out a long sigh. "That was probably my fault."

"I get what you said, though."

I watched as Nott disappeared from sight. He was trying so hard to understand everyone else that it seemed he had forgotten to understand himself.

A gentle arm wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me into a warm embrace. I rested my forehead against Blaise's shoulder. We stood there for a moment, sharing our feelings of helplessness. Then, he let me go, and we went in search of some much-needed eclairs.

* * *

Nott continued to walk through Hogwarts like a ghost. At first, he wouldn't even sit with us at meals. I didn't know where he went, but he would grab food from the Great Hall and head to some hidden nook in the castle. I think Pansy said something to him, though, and after a few days, Nott started eating with us again. However, he never really felt present. He contributed little to the conversation, and his smiles all seemed forced. Even when the conversations about _The Quibbler_ article ended and Hogwarts had moved to new gossip, the sacking of Trelawney, Nott still seemed out of it.

The rest of us had silently agreed to not broach the subject with him. After his fight with Blaise, we'd decided to let Nott figure it out on his own. He usually did. Of course, _usually_ it took less time than this.

During Nott's troubles, my decision about Adrian had become an afterthought, and it wasn't until Tracey reminded me that I realized it'd been over two weeks since our Hogsmeade date. I'd kept him waiting for far too long. But I still didn't know. Did I want to date Adrian? I wasn't in love with him, that was for sure, but perhaps love would come with time. But what if it didn't? What if I ended up snapping at him and then yelling at him and then watching as he disapparated in the middle of the night? Common sense said I was being silly, but still, the questions remained unanswered.

Adrian also hadn't put any pressure on me to decide anything. He seemed content to pseudo-date me for the time being, and I wasn't going to give an answer if I didn't have to. And so, we continued to hang out for the next week without addressing the issue that lay between us.

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon, and Adrian and I had found a spot on the shores of the Great Lake to chat. The February snows had melted, and March brought with it warm sunlight. Adrian stretched out on the grass, his gray and green tie undone, and his brown hair ruffled by the wind. I sat with my knees bent, watching the shadow of the Giant Squid as it did laps of the lake.

"Can you believe what happened to Trelawney?" asked Adrian, who was always happy to discuss school gossip with me.

"It was bound to happen sometime," I said. "Umbridge likes to prove her authority, and she desperately needed a win after _The Quibbler_ article. She probably only waited so long because she needed the paperwork to be processed."

"But then Dumbledore hired Firenze." Adrian laughed. "You should have seen how spitting mad Umbridge was that Dumbledore hired the centaur before she could appoint a Ministry-approved professor."

I smiled. Dumbledore had stolen the victory right from Umbridge's clutches. "What do you think of Firenze?"

"He's much better than Trelawney," said Adrian, who, for whatever reason, was taking NEWT-level Divination. "But he teaches a different kind of Divination. He doesn't mess around with tea leaves."

"That's what the girls said." After Firenze had been appointed to the post, Georgina and Millicent had spent hours swooning over the handsome centaur. I'd asked them how they planned to get around the fact that he was half horse, and they decided not to include me in their conversations about the new Divination professor again.

Adrian lay back on the slope, using his arms to prop himself up. He grinned at me, and after returning his smile, I turned back to the Great Lake. The Giant Squid seemed to be doing something resembling the backstroke now. I wondered how peaceful the Giant Squid's life must be. He didn't have to spend his days worry about dating, worrying about his friends, worrying about his dad, worrying that the Dark Lord would take away everyone he loved. But, now that I thought about it, did the Giant Squid have anyone for the Dark Lord to take away?

"How much longer do I have to wait?"

Adrian's question threw me off guard, and I sat there, just gawking at him. Then, with a cough, I managed to regain some semblance of speech. "I-I'm still…figuring things out."

"How long does it take?" asked Adrian. His voice was sharp.

"I—"

"Sorry." He smiled up at me. "I know this is difficult for you. I can't imagine what it was like, growing up with parents who fought all the time."

I nodded. I couldn't find the words to form a reply. I felt awful, though. Adrian deserved better than this. He was a good bloke. He didn't deserve to be kept waiting like this. He deserved an answer. Only…I didn't have one. Did I want to date Adrian? I didn't know. But surely, I was meant to feel more than this.

The wind had a bite to it, and I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, wishing I'd worn my robes over my uniform. A group of fourth year Ravenclaws giggled as they made their way across the grounds. Nanette Desford was among them. When our eyes met, she looked away quickly. I might have wrong, but I thought I saw something akin to guilt in her gaze.

"I heard the whole Dumbledore versus the Ministry debate has spread to the other houses," I said. "Sue and Stephen told me most of Ravenclaw house is on Dumbledore's side after _The Quibbler_ article."

"The ones who still support the Ministry have parents who work there," said Adrian. There was an edge to his voice, and I wondered if he was mad at them. "I'm sure their parents are under a lot of pressure and that puts the students under a lot of pressure."

"And then, there are prats like Montague and Draco," I said, rolling my eyes. "You heard them in the common room last night? Fantasizing about some inquisitorial squad. As if Dumbledore would ever approve that."

"Draco's a prick," said Adrian. "He's going to end up a Death Eater just like his father."

And just like that, with that one sentence, it all snapped into place. Perhaps I overreacted to his words a little. After all, nothing Adrian said about Draco was untrue. But his words triggered something in me. I saw white rage, and I knew, with sudden clarity, that I finally had my answer.

I got to my feet, brushed the stray blades of grass from my skirt, and said, "Adrian, this isn't going to work."

His head jerked up, and his mouth dropped open. "W-what?"

"I like you, I really do. But you're not the boy for me, and no matter how many dates we go on, that's not going to change."

"You realized that just now?"

"No. Well, yes. I don't know. I've been thinking a lot. Tracey said I should try dating you, even though I thought I didn't want to—"

I just slipped out, and it was the wrong thing to say. Adrian's eyes flashed and he asked, "You thought this way all this time? For three weeks? And you're telling me just now?"

"No. I didn't mean it like that. I really didn't know. But now I do. And I know this isn't going to work. If I have to spend this much time thinking about whether I want to date you or not, then we both have to know this isn't going to work. No matter how many times we hang out."

"Right, right." Adrian seemed to fighting a battle within himself. I could see the anger building beneath the surface, but he was trying hard to keep calm. He didn't want to get mad at me even though he probably had every right to. "Thank you for finally giving me an answer."

"You deserve someone who's going to say 'yes' right away."

"Do I?" His voice trembled ever so slightly.

I decided it would've been better if I just kept my mouth shut.

Unfortunately, right then, his anger won out and there was no stopping himself. "I probably also deserve someone who doesn't string me along for three weeks and who doesn't use her parents as an excuse and who doesn't act as spoiled as those purebloods she claims to hate and who doesn't fancy her best friend."

That last part threw me. "What?"

"You're all talk," snapped Adrian. He either didn't realize what he'd said or had decided to just ignore me. "You talk and talk and you never do anything. And you end up making someone wait for three weeks, because you can't say no, but you can't say yes either. That doesn't make you a good girl, Daphne. That makes you a tease."

I didn't have to listen to this. He had every right to be angry—I probably would've been just as mad if I'd been in his shoes—but I didn't have to stand there let him say whatever he wanted. I didn't have to listen to him say every bad thing about me that came to his mind, bad things that he probably didn't even believe on a normal day. I didn't have to watch as my image of Adrian as this white robed hero, the exception to the Slytherin stereotype, broke into a thousand pieces.

I said, "I'll see you around, Adrian," and I walked away.

He didn't try to follow me. He was too nice to do that.

* * *

"We should just expel those future Death Eaters from Hogwarts."

A boy's voice came from somewhere behind me, and my head whipped around as I searched the crowd of students for whoever had spoken. Unfortunately, we were walking down the spiral staircase after Astronomy class, and there was no way to tell who was the culprit. Voices carried down the tower—snippers of conversations about the constellations, about how the Quidditch season was going, about the new Divination professor, about Harry bloody Potter.

Nott kept his expression neutral, pretending that he hadn't heard the comment. But I could see the way his eyes glazed over as he pulled into some dark place.

It seemed as though our other friends hadn't heard. Tracey and Pansy continued talking about a new album coming out, while Blaise had his nose buried in a book. I was the only one who had this rage burning in her chest.

What would I have done if I'd found the boy who said it anyway? Even if I did know who was responsible for those terrible words, what would I have done to him? I didn't think I had it in me to make him apologize. I couldn't be like Pansy and use magic on someone who upset me. I also wasn't like Nott who could boldly talk about what had happened with a stranger and try to make her understand his viewpoint. What could I do? I didn't know. But it had reached the point where I had to do something.

I grabbed Nott by the sleeve of his robes. His head jerked in surprise, but I didn't give him a chance to resist as I dragged him down the corridor. I think Tracey called out after us, but I barely heard her. I shoved Nott into an empty classroom, and I planted myself between him and the exit. The door slammed shut behind me.

"Daphne?"

Nott's eyes were wide. He hadn't expected this from me. I hadn't expected it from me either. But apparently even I could get angry enough to yell.

"What can I do?" I asked. "You keep walking around like you're not even here. You keep saying you're all right, but we all know you're not. What can I do to help you? I know you need something. I just don't know what it is, and I won't ever know if you don't tell me. How can I help you? Just tell me what to do. You want me to listen? I'll stay with you however long. You want me to hex someone? I will. I can do it for you. You want to talk to Dawlish? I'll get her for you. What you want, I'll do it. The only thing I can't do is leave you alone like this. Just, _please_ , tell me what you need."

Nott stared at me. His mouth was slightly open, but he didn't seem capable of speech right then. He only stared.

My chest tightened, and unable to take the silence any longer, I cried, "Say something!"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Did you not listen to a word I just said?" I snapped.

Nott winced. Then, a slow, amused smile made its way onto his face. "I heard all of it, Daph. How could I not?"

"Don't smile at me." But my voice didn't have the anger anymore. Nott was smiling. It was the first genuine smile I'd seen from him in so long. "Just talk to me. Please."

"What do you want me to say?" He leaned against one of the desks and dropped his bookbag onto the floor. The heavy textbooks landed with a dull thud. Nott stared down at the bag as he said, "I can't blame Potter for giving the interview. I can't blame _The Quibbler_ for publishing the article. I can't blame Helen for wanting to take a break. I can't blame the other students for believing Potter, and I can't blame them for believing that deep down I'm someone like Draco. I _was_ someone like Draco once."

I opened my mouth to tell him that he'd never be like Draco, but I stopped myself. Nott didn't want to hear platitudes right now.

"The only person I can blame is my dad for being the sick bastard that he is. Because he's exactly what Potter says he is. He deserves to be in Azkaban. But he's not. He told the Ministry he was under the Imperius Curse, and those incompetent fools believed him. And now he's sworn service to You-Know-Who again. Not that he ever stopped believing in all that shite. Even when You-Know-Who was supposedly dead, he kept sprouting all that nonsense."

Nott took a long breath. He wouldn't look at me. I wanted tilt his head up, force him to meet my gaze, so I could see what he was thinking, but I didn't move. I only listened, because that's what I promised him I would do.

"Every time I try to picture him wearing one of those skull-masks, I just see _him_. I know he's Death Eater. I've heard him say terrible things about muggles and muggleborns. I know he's an awful person. But you don't know him. You didn't see him in the months after my mum died. You didn't see how hard he tried to pick himself up so that he could be my dad. He still cries over her photograph when he thinks I'm not looking, and he tells me stories about her because he doesn't want me to forget her. We visit her grave every summer. He brings her a bouquet of flowers and tells her how much I've grown. He's not evil." Nott stopped as his own words sunk in. A shadow crossed over his face, and he forced out the next sentence. "He _is_ evil. He'll torture and kill muggles because he thinks they're the scum of the earth. I once overheard him telling Macnair…they were remembering this time where they found some muggles in the woods and they…and they…"

Nott started to cry.

In all our five years together, I'd never seen him cry before. I could only stand there, as if someone had cast a Body-Binding Curse on me, watching as Nott's face crumpled and sobs wracked his body.

"Don't look at me," he snapped.

I ignored him. I forgot that I'd promised to do whatever he wanted.

Even leaning against a desk, his shoulders were too high for me to reach, so I wrapped my arms around his waist. He wasn't as thin as I remembered, and I wondered if he'd done some growing up this year as well. His whole body trembled beneath my touch as he tried to hold back the tears, but after a moment, he gave in. His arms circled around me, and we cried together.

I don't know how long we stood there for. I was pretty sure I'd covered the front of Nott's robes with snot and tears. I couldn't help it. I probably needed this just as much as Nott did. Adrian's words from yesterday echoed back to me. _You talk and talk and you never do anything._ He was right, I realized, and that only made me cry harder.

It wasn't until Nott's hold on me loosened that I realized he'd stopped crying. He didn't let go, however.

"I'm just as bad as Draco," he said. "I might not go around sprouting nonsense about my dad, but in my own way, I'm just as bad. I know about all the things my dad's done, and what have I done about it? Nothing. It took Potter giving that interview for me to realize that I don't have to be silent. I've been complicit all this time. I've just let my dad say whatever he wanted and acted like I have to keep this secret. But I don't have to." He took a deep breath. I could feel his chest move up and down beneath his uniform. "But what do I do? Am I supposed to tell someone? Snape? Dumbledore? Can they do anything with the Ministry pretending You-Know-Who is still gone? Can I even bring myself tell them? Or am I going to stay quiet like I always have?"

"You can change," I said. I held him close as I spoke, my forehead pressed against the fabric of his robes. "It's never too late to change. You've changed so much already from the little first year who couldn't believe Tracey's mum was muggleborn. What's another step in the process to you?" I stepped back a little and lifted my head so that I could meet Nott's eyes. "And I'll help you. You know I'll help you."

He let out a small chuckle. "I knew you'd say that."

His arms released me, and we faced one another. We were both messes. He grabbed his wand and cleaned his face and robes. His eyes were still red, but other than that, there were no traces of tears. He pointed his wand at me and repeated the spell.

"Thank you," I said.

He smiled. "What kind of friend would I be if I made you walk back to the common room with snot on your face?"

My hands flew to my face, checking that the spell had worked. Nott laughed at my panicked expression, and I couldn't help but think about how far he'd come. I still remembered the scrawny, gloomy first year boy that Draco had introduced me to at the Slytherin table. "This is Nott," Draco had said. "His dad works for the Ministry as well." The boy had been tall even then, and he'd—

I found myself asking, "Do you even like being called 'Nott'?"

"No." Even Nott seemed surprised at how quickly he answered that question. He shook his head and said, "It doesn't matter. What brought this on?"

"I just remembered," I said, "that Draco had introduced you by your last name—like he did Crabbe and Goyle—and we all just ended up calling you 'Nott'. I don't think I even knew your first name until exams."

Nott scowled. "I remember that. You and Pansy genuinely thought my only name was 'Nott'."

"So many puns," I said with a wistful smile.

We laughed at the memory of our younger selves, and then Nott said, "We should head back to the common room. I don't fancy detention with Umbridge."

I nodded. "Let's go, Theo."

He stared at me for a moment. Then, the corners of his mouth quirked up, and he started to laugh. "It's embarrassing to hear you say it."

"Shut it."

"Why'd you shorten it to 'Theo'?" he asked.

I couldn't tell him that the memory of Dawlish calling him "Theodore" echoed in my head, and I found I couldn't call him that. I pushed open the classroom door and let him step past me into the corridor. "If you don't like it, I'm going to keep calling you 'Nott'."

He smiled. "No, 'Theo' is good."

The other three had waited for us. They stood at the bottom of the Astronomy tower, talking amongst themselves. They fell silent when they spotted Nott and me. Nott hadn't expected them to be there and, embarrassed that his eyes were red, quickly looked away. Pansy beamed at us, while Blaise patted me on the shoulder. Tracey sent me a questioning look, and I nodded once to let her know that we'd talked. The five of us walked back to the Slytherin common room together.

Everything was going to be all right, I thought. And I really believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters to write, so I hope you enjoyed it as well. Please leave a comment!


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